Necessary Evil
by OyHumbug
Summary: Sometimes in life, one must do things that are a necessary evil. This is a lesson Jason Morgan learned while still a child, and, as he matures, falls in love, and becomes the man he wants to be, it will be a lesson he'll never be able to forget.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yep, I'm hooked on flash fic. Not being able to wait for the next challenge, I've decided to start an ongoing fic with the flash fic prompts to guide me. Like with _Halloween Hookups_, I have a general plan as to where I want this story to go, but nothing is planned or set into concrete. I'm allowing the prompts to inspire me. Hopefully everyone enjoys this first chapter. As for _Reinventing a Quartermaine_, I know I need to update it, and I will soon. Promise.

Charlynn

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter One  
****Prompt #261: ****And the truth shall set you free.**

_The No Name _for Jason Morgan was one of life's many necessary evils. While the conception to most was just a cliché, in his existence, it was simply a means of explanation, something that he could use to excuse his actions. It had been the first lesson he had been taught by his unsolicited mentor and one he would, in all likelihood, never he allowed to forget. In their world, the idea of a necessary evil was there to sooth guilty consciences, and it served as a universal band aid for most if not all wounds, whether physical, emotional, or even mental, and, while Jason hated the expression, it was one he simply could not get away from.

As Alan Morgan's only son, he had been welcomed into an existence few ever experienced and even fewer could understand, and his acceptance in that world only grew when his father's boss, Michael "Sonny" Corinthos, had taken special interest in him as a child. With no family of his own, no siblings, no children, no wife, and not even a mistress, Sonny had seen his organization's doctor and, more importantly, the doctor's son as his relatives, taking the disowned Quartermaines under his wing, providing them with protection, care, and a more than cushy lifestyle, one that even their old moneyed ancestors could not imagine, all in exchange for their loyalty and their honor.

Oh, and also the fact that Jason would someday become the mob lord's dynasty – his sole heir in fortune, name, and position – even if the younger man didn't want it.

And he didn't.

But how could you refuse a don? For that, there was no simply answer. So, he hung back in the shadows, watched, listened, and learned, while, all the while, secretly looking for a way out of the life that had been chosen for him. As of yet, he had been able to keep his hands clean. Although he understood how the business operated and could, if the need came about, step in and run it himself, Jason did not take an active participation in the organization, much to his mentor's chagrin. Sonny insisted that the younger man should be by his side, his second in command, but his wishes were placated, for the time being, by Jason's wish to see the world, experience life, and exist freely for as long as he could remain an innocent, unconnected citizen. True, the other families knew what he was destined for, but, until he physically picked up a gun and declared his intentions, they left him in relative, un-hassled peace. For now.

However, nothing was ever cut and dry, black and white. While he had his freedom, it came with the chains and limitations of the wealthy, privileged class. Sure, he was the bastard son of a mob doctor, but, because both Alan and Sonny had money, Jason was expected to act accordingly. That meant education and the arts, fancy cars and ridiculously expensive clothes, nice restaurants and fine wines. And he hated all of it. If he had his way, he'd live in a simple, barely furnished apartment, he'd drive a motorcycle, he'd wear jeans and a t-shirt, opting for a leather and not a cashmere jacket during the cooler months, and he'd drink beer instead of merlot, but, as his second lesson under his mentor's tutelage had taught him, it was always a good idea not to rock the boat, and, with that in mind, he found himself that evening wearing a suit, sans tie, and eating at the most exclusive, pretentious restaurant in town. Luckily, he was alone and his guards were outside, so no one would know that he had ordered a burger and fries instead of fillet mignon and shrimp scampi and that his glass of red wine was going untouched while he made his way to the bar to order a drink.

Sliding onto a stool, he glanced quickly at his surroundings, a habit forcefully drilled into him since he was a child, before relaxing and settling down to await the bartender. He didn't recognize her from behind, but, knowing the penchant some women had for changing their appearances, Jason was not going to bet the money he had in his wallet that the waitress was a new hire. _The No Name _had several petite, female employees, and, though they had all been blonde the last time he had been there, hair dye was not a foreign concept. However, as the young woman turned around to face him, young being the operative word, he knew he had never seen her before.

"What can I get you?"

He narrowed his gaze, observing her closely. Big, innocent blue eyes fringed with dark, smoky lashes stared back at him while the girl's lips curled into a friendly smile. She didn't look old enough to serve him alcohol let alone work in a place where the clientele was predominately male and mafia connected, so there was no way Jason was going to let her serve him if she wasn't legal. It would be just his luck that as soon as his beer passed from her hand to his, the cops would storm the establishment, busting him for something he had unwittingly done by simply ordering a drink, because, even though Sonny's associates respected the fact that his future heir was not already ensconced in the business, the police didn't.

So, with that thought in mind, he demanded, "your ID."

Her smile disappeared instantly only to be replaced with an annoyed frown. With hands fisted on her cocked hips, the young woman demanded, "excuse me? I'm not the one standing on the outside of the bar, so either order your drink or leave."

"Are you eighteen?"

"How is that any of your business?"

Sighing, Jason reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. The movement was a telltale sign that he was becoming frustrated. "Look,…"

"Elizabeth," she supplied for him.

"Look, Elizabeth, I'm not trying to give you a hard time," he assured her. "I just don't want any trouble."

That comment made her smirk. "And you think I'm going to give it to you?" At the sound of her naively stated words, his pupils flared and, against his better judgment, attraction coursed through him. "Trouble, I mean," the brunette clarified after several intense, awkward moments, realization setting in and making her aware of her innuendo laced question.

"If you're not of age and you sell me a drink, then, yeah," Jason told her, "you could make some trouble I really don't need right now. So, why don't you save us both the hassle and just show me your ID, okay?"

Although she obliged, handing him the plastic card, he saw her roll her doe-like eyes in exasperation and tap her foot while he looked over her driver's license.

"Satisfied?"

The bite of irritation in her tone was unmistakable, and he found himself battling to keep his own amusement in check. "Hardly," he responded when he handed the ID back to the petite woman across from him, a woman, he had learned from her card, who had just turned eighteen. "I'll take that drink now though," Jason requested, realizing it might take more than one to help him unwind after their encounter. "A beer, please, in the bottle."

Leaning across the counter, Elizabeth simply smirked. "I have to see your ID first." And, with that, he knew the little vixen was up to something, and he was more than ready and willing to play along.

Reaching for his wallet, he pulled out his license, slipping it between his fingers and twirling it around before finally relinquishing it to the bartender. "Don't you know who I am?" With one glance at it, she handed it back.

"No, I don't, and that's a fake."

"What… how," he sputtered, completely flabbergasted, not by her realization but by the fact that she had come to it. Jason knew it was a fake; after all, he had several of them for they occasionally came in handy, but no one had ever called him on it before.

"You don't become an honorary member of a fraternity at the age of fourteen to not pick up on a few useful things," she explained, shrugging her delicate shoulders in a dismissive way. "I can spot a fake ID from a mile away, and that's not even a good one."

"A fraternity?"

"I have an older brother, and we're close. While he was in college, I hung out with him and his friends all the time. I was their little sister, they watched out for me, and, in exchange, I took care of them. Plus," she added, observing him closely, "you don't look like a Frank. The name doesn't suit you. Do you have a real ID, or am I going to have to refuse you service?"

Without commenting, he pulled his wallet out once again and brought out the correct card, flashing it in front of her before withholding it. "Why do you need to see it," Jason wondered out loud. "If you want to know something about me, all you have to do is ask."

"Don't flatter yourself. There's nothing I want to know about you besides what brand of beer you prefer… except for your age. A girl really wouldn't want to serve someone who's underage during her first day on the job."

"First day? Did you just move here?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Elizabeth pointed out, narrowing her gaze. "Are you a cop?"

"No," he answered, "the complete opposite in fact."

"Oh, so you're a criminal?"

"Not yet." Apparently, candor was the theme of their evening. "But someday…"

"We all could say that," the brunette returned. "Someday, we could be anything. Life's fickle like that; it can change in the blink of an eye. Today I'm a bartender, but someday, who knows what I'll be."

"I'm pretty sure about my future," Jason confessed. "But, back to my ID, surely you don't really think I'm underage?"

"A girl can never be too sure." Holding her hand out, palm facing up, she asked, "may I?"

Acquiescing, he handed her his license, his real license, hoping the sight of his name wouldn't make her freeze up or turn away from him if she recognized it from the papers or the news. He liked her. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he'd admit that he really liked her, more so than any other woman from his past, and there had been plenty. She was obviously intelligent, quick witted, and she could make him laugh. Add those qualities to the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous, and the result was desire. He wanted her, maybe not at that moment, but he wanted her, and, as long as she didn't turn him away, he knew that sometime in the future he would have her.

"So, Jason," she grinned, giving him back his ID and remaining in front of him, open, receptive, and warm, "what will it be? What kind of beer do you want?"

"Surprise me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Two  
****FF#262: The Most Amazing Woman**

Patrick Webber strolled into _The No Name_ after a long shift at the hospital, eager to talk to his baby sister. It didn't matter how tired he was or how seductive his king sized bed sounded at that particular moment, this, breakfast with Elizabeth, was an everyday ritual, and he wasn't going to let a twelve hour shift in the ER get in his way. Since they were ten and eighteen respectively, the mornings had always been their time together. Whether she got a ride to the college he was attending before school or he went home to eat a bowl of cereal with her, not a day had passed in eleven years that they had not seen or talked to each other over breakfast. In fact, he didn't know what he would do without his younger sibling. She was the most important person in his life, and he knew she felt the same way about him. Growing up in the Webber household, their amazing bond had been necessary, and, even though she was now twenty-one and independent and he was twenty-nine and a successful doctor, they still needed each other.

"I don't see why you continue to work her, Immy," he said, calling her by her childhood nickname, a nickname she hated because it was inspired by her dreaded middle name. "It's not like you need the money. The shop is doing well."

"It is," she agreed, sliding him a cup of steaming hot coffee across the sparkling clean bar, "but it's not like I have anything better to do with my mornings. Why not stock away some money for a rainy day? A girl never knows what the future could hold for her, and I, for one, like to be prepared for anything."

And that was Elizabeth – responsible, organized, and ridiculously mature. It was a good thing he had her in his life to keep him in line. As soon as she had graduated from high school, she had left their parents' home, moved in with him, and started working immediately. All the money she made was stocked away so that, after two years of working nonstop, she could afford to open up her own art supply store downtown where she not only sold all the accoutrements an artist could ask for but also offered classes to the public, some of which she taught herself. The store was doing well, but she still remained at the _The No Name_, trading in her evening bartending shift for the morning set up one.

"So," she drawled out, snapping the young neurosurgeon out of his thoughts, "did anything exciting happen at the hospital last night?"

"Not really, but I did have a patient with a penchant for video games, so we pretended his case was more serious than it was and got in a few rounds on the Wii."

"And with your personal life," his baby sister prompted him, "any changes there since yesterday morning."

Now that was the conversation Patrick had wanted to avoid. Normally, he told Elizabeth everything, but, for the first time in their relationship, they had found a point of contention – his girlfriend. The two women hated each other and made no attempt to get along. Deciding he would rather broach the subject of Carly on a full stomach, the doctor stood up from his stool and moved around to rummage behind the bar for something to eat.

"What's for breakfast this morning? I'm starving." The icy glare the petite brunette directed towards him hit its mark and he slipped back into his seat. "Or maybe I'm not hungry."

"I am the queen of avoidance tactics, Patrick, so you're going to have to try something else." Fisting her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes in concentration. "What did that shrew do this time?"

"Carly didn't do anything. It's me; I did something."

That brought a smile to her beautiful face. Excitement laced her next words. "You broke up with her?"

With a loud thump, his head fell to the top of the bar, smearing the mahogany. Mumbling, the neurosurgeon answered, "I asked her to move in with me."

The last thing he had expected was to hear his baby sister laugh, but that's exactly what she did.

"Immy?"

"I'm sorry," she apologized hastily, wiping the tears of mock mirth that had formed at the corners of her indigo eyes. "I could have sworn that you said you invited your piranha of a girlfriend to move in with you, but I know that I must be mistaken, because I live with you, and, as my big brother who just so happens to _respect _me, you would have asked my opinion first before going and doing something so incredibly stupid, right?"

"With our schedules," he tried to sooth her anger, "you'll hardly ever see her."

"Living on the same continent with that woman is more than enough torture already, and now you're asking me to cohabitate with her? This is something I would expect from Mom and Dad, Patrick, but not you."

"I know you want me to say that I'm sorry and you want me to beg for your forgiveness and run to Carly and rescind my offer, but I'm not going to," he prefaced his next words. "I love you, Immy. For a long time, it was just you and me against the world, but my life is different now. I'm dating someone, we're in a serious relationship, and I want to take this next step. I'm not going to apologize for falling in love with someone. Not all of us," he accused, "are satisfied with living our life alone."

"I'm not alone. I have you, I have my friends,…"

"And you have never even once attempted an adult relationship," the doctor challenged. "I realize that our parents were the worst possible example of marriage that you could have seen growing up, but you can't close yourself off for the rest of your life, Elizabeth."

She smirked. "And I suppose you think your relationship with Carly should be my model of domestic bliss." Adding an element of sarcasm to her voice, she taunted, "hold my hair back for me; I think I'm going to sick."

"You have no room to criticize. At least I'm willing to date."

"Yeah, and you go out and pick up the one woman who will inevitably hurt you, Patrick," his younger sibling yelled, pounding her fists against the bar in emphasis. "The only reason she's with you is because you're a doctor, you have money, and she thinks she looks good prancing around town with a Webber on her arm. Just as soon as some bigger fish comes along, you'll be yesterday's old news, broken hearted, and, in all likelihood, even more jaded than I am."

Having heard enough and not wanting to fight anymore, Patrick stood up from his stool and gathered his keys to leave. With one last glance towards his sister, he said, "Carly stays which means you have a choice to make. You can either put aside your petty dislike of my girlfriend and learn to get along with her or you can move out. I'll see you at home later, and, when I do, I'll be expecting your answer."

As the door slammed shut behind the neurosurgeon, he realized that his relationship with the most important person in his life had just shifted. The tables had turned, and he felt confused and off kilter, but he also refused to back down. Even if Elizabeth was right and Carly did eventually hurt him, he would not sit back and allow his life to run him; unlike his sister, he was determined to run his own life and that included taking risks, even if said risks could cost him everything.

Francis Corelli was a quiet man, an observant one. He was a firm believer that one could learn more by simply staying quiet and listening. After all, what could a man learn from his own thoughts? Personal thoughts were based upon knowledge one had already acquired; new knowledge came from the people, the things, and the situations one surrounded themselves with. From his boss, Sonny Corinthos, he learned survival techniques and cooking recipes, an odd combination, he realized, but a useful one nonetheless. From the doc, he learned about business policies, medical advances, and the occasional political tidbit. From his best friend, one moody, brooding, and rather melancholic Jason Morgan, he learned patience, perseverance, and odd trivia. And, currently, as he sat in a secret meeting with his best friend, he finally learned the reason behind the younger man's gloomy outlook on life – a woman.

He should have known.

"So, let me get this straight," the guard asked, "you want me to organize a shift of guards to watch over this woman… this Elizabeth Webber… without either your father or Mr. Corinthos finding out about it?"

"Yes."

"Jason, I'm not sure about this."

"Listen," the younger man begged of him. "I've never asked you to do something like this before, partially because you're my friend and I didn't want to put you in this position and partially because I never wanted to take advantage of a business I want to be no part of, but this is important; she's important to me."

Sitting back in his chair, Francis observed the blonde haired, blue eyed recluse across from him. He bled sincerity, and, realizing that this woman meant so much to his best friend hurt him, because Jason had never bothered to tell him about her before. "Are you seeing her?"

"No, but I want to be." Sighing, he explained. "When we met, she had just turned eighteen and she wasn't ready for anything more serious than a passing acquaintance, but three years have passed now."

"But you're friends, right?"

"Well," the younger man smirked, "we had chemistry the one time we talked."

"Wait a minute," Francis demanded. "Are you telling me that you're putting guards on a woman you barely know?" Laughing softly at his friend, he pressed, "you've got to give me a little something more to go on here."

"I've kept an eye on her myself for the past three years, made sure she was alright while biding my time until I knew she was ready for…"

"For a relationship with the future heir of the Corinthos empire," the guard prompted.

"You know that's not going to happen. No matter what, I refuse to take over the business."

"I know that, and you know that, but no one else does," the Italian pointed out. "To the rest of the world, the minute Elizabeth Webber becomes a visible presence in your life, she'll be marked, tainted, and at risk."

"That's why you're going to help me make sure she's safe," Jason directed his friend.

"So you're going to ask her out?"

"For now, I'm just going to be her friend," the younger man explained. "I need to make sure she's comfortable with me first. She's…," he paused to search for the right word, "kind of scared."

"Of you?"

"Of relationships."

"And you've found all this out by standing in the shadows and keeping an eye on her for the past three years?"

"You're not the only one who's observant, Frannie," Jason teased him. "And I did some research."

"A fact I hope you keep from Miss Webber." He watched as his best friend dismissed his concerns with a flick of his wrist, knowing that would be the only response the blonde would give him. Finally, he took a calming breath before answering the original request. "Alright, I'll do it; I'll set up a shift of guards. I imagine you want us to keep our distance, that we're to remain unseen?"

"Of course."

He stood up to leave, crossed the penthouse, but stopped just as his hand touched the doorknob. "May I ask you one more thing about the situation?" Jason nodded his acceptance, so he proceeded. "Why now? Why, after three years and not even a mention of her existence, are you in such a hurry to place guards on this woman? Did something happen? Did someone approach her, figure out the connection you have with her?"

"She just moved out of her brother's apartment," the younger man answered wearily, collapsing onto his couch and pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's alone for the first time in her life, and it doesn't matter how brave she pretends to be with the rest of the world, I know she's scared. She's lonely, she's furious and feeling alienated from her brother, and she's on edge. I can't sit by and watch her be unhappy, Francis."

"But instead of going to her and telling her how you feel, you remain here, hidden away from the rest of the world, miserable. I'll do this for you, I'll keep her safe, but you're going to have to make a move sooner or later. Stalking her for the rest of your life is not going to be enough, and, if this girl is worth it, she deserves more than that from a man who claims to care so much about her. Think about that," the guard directed him, "and, when you're ready to make a move, I'm here to help."

Silence was the only response he got, but, expecting nothing else, Francis Corelli left his best friend alone, having learned far more from watching and listening to Jason Morgan than the man had voluntarily admitted. His observation skills never failed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Three**

**FF#263: Pretty Noose**

No matter what the not-so-good doctor did, Sonny Corinthos was always the best dressed of the two most senior members of their organization. Although the matter seemed trivial, it made Alan Morgan laugh, because, really, when he thought about it, the idea was absurd. At one point, albeit, thirty years prior, he had been the illustrious Quartermaine family's heir. He had gone to the best schools, had married the best possible candidate of a wife, and he had the best material things life had to offer simply tossed in his direction. But not little Mikey Corinthos. Alan's boss had grown up poor, had quit high school, and had only managed to make a success out of his life by turning to crime, but, at the end of the day, he was still the don, and he was still the one who always wore the prettiest ties.

Luckily, for their working partnership, the physician didn't mind. In fact, jealousy was the last thing he would ever feel towards his friend and employer; devotion, loyalty, and absolute trust were the more accurate words to describe how he felt about the younger man. After having an affair and bringing a second son into the world, a son that was out of wedlock, Alan had been shunned by his family, ostracized by the society that had formerly embraced him, and had even been fired from his job at the hospital. Forced to leave, he had taken Jason with him, and, for many years, the two of them had barely survived. While medically he kept his skills in tune by practicing at a free clinic, financially the doctor had managed to support both himself and his son by working odd jobs. Sometimes he would take care of elderly patients in their homes, and other times he would serve as medical assistants to the local high school sports teams. The pay was paltry, but medicine was the only thing he knew, the only thing he could do. And then, just as quickly as his life had changed before, Sonny Corinthos had waltzed into Port Charles, smiled his infamously dimpled grin of carefully controlled and concealed viciousness, and turned his world upside down for a second time.

With an offer of a job, the mafia kingpin had also given Alan his self-respect and pride back, he had given him a second chance at belonging to a family, and he had accepted the older man for both his imperfections and his strengths, and, in return, the medical professional had pledged his life to the world of crime, trading in his nice guy persona. The change had given him the opportunity to show his cynicism towards all things good, and, finally, his bitterness found company in Sonny's misery. While the doctor's family had pushed him away out of choice, the Cuban's family had all left him through death. His parents were gone, he had no siblings, and any family that he had tried to build for himself over the years had turned into collateral damage from his choice of profession, permanently closing Sonny off emotionally. The coldness inside the crime boss made him an excellent businessman though, allowing him to detach and react without thought of consequence or feeling. That ability to rule the organization made Alan's boss a very powerful man, and, as his right hand and second in command, by extension, the cast aside, forgotten black sheep of the Quartermaine family gained control over his own life and power himself, power more potent and more influential than holding a scalpel could ever give him.

"You wanted to see me."

After being allowed into Sonny's penthouse by the guard at the door, the doctor greeted his employer the same way he always did. Although he considered the younger man his only friend, their relationship was at all times cordial to the point of aloof formality. In their world, distance and indifference were essential to survival.

"Sit," Sonny directed. It wasn't issued out of concern for his comfort but simply for the fact that the mob boss preferred to look down at someone whenever he spoke to them. Obeying, Alan sank into the luxurious cushions of the sectional sofa, propped his right leg over his left knee, and waited. Finally, the younger man continued, pacing the entire time he spoke. "It's Jason."

"Did something happen to him?" Despite himself, worry creased the father's face, betraying the fact that not only was he getting up there in age but that he was also still emotionally attached to someone. Unlike his more powerful counterpart, Alan had a weakness. "I haven't seen him for a few days…"

"That's exactly why I'm worried. No one's seen him for the past few days. He ditched his guards, he hasn't checked in, and there have been no monetary transactions to track his whereabouts."

The physician sighed, relieved. "He's probably just off on one of his whims, either riding or hiding out somewhere by himself. You know how he is. Jason's always liked his solitude."

"And I can respect that, even understand it," Sonny agreed, benignly. Angering instantly, he swiped his arm across the top shelf of his bar, destroying the ostentatious glass tumblers and crystal goblets. Stepping quickly towards the older man, his Italian soled loafers crunching the shards into a fine powder, he narrowed his gaze and hissed, "but enough is enough. I've given him a long leash, allowed him to have his whims, but it's past time that he step up and take responsibility. He knows what his future entails, he knows that he is going to one day be running this organization, and I need him with me now, at all times, learning from me, preparing himself." Satisfied with their meeting, the Cuban flicked his wrist in dismissal and strode away from his second in command. "Make it happen, Morgan. See to it that your son is back here by tomorrow morning."

Just as quickly as his employer's rage had appeared, the man himself disappeared into the further recesses of the penthouse, leaving Alan with an impossible task to accomplish in an impossible amount of time. What he needed was a way to control his son. Jason was guarded though. Despite the fact that he felt many things deeply, his son kept his emotions hidden and locked away where no one could see them. If one showed no weaknesses, then those weaknesses could not be manipulated. However, that's exactly what the doctor needed. He needed to find his son's greatest weakness and exploit it to get the tempestuous recluse to behave as he needed him to. What he needed was to find his son's kryptonite.

Alexis Davis was, admittedly, an odd woman. Her work was her life, and her life was her work. She hated socializing, hobbies, to the successful lawyer, were a waste of time, and her family was nature's very own proof that the human race was not as evolved as some scientists thought it to be. However, on one night every month, she let herself relax. She took her hair down from the harsh buns and French twists that she always wore, she shoved aside her rows upon rows of dark colored, professional suits to find a comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and she stopped working for a few hours to spend some time with the only friend she had.

Of all the people in the world for a neurotic, high strung, analytical attorney to have for a friend, Elizabeth Webber was the least likely candidate, but, despite their differences, and there were many, for some reason, the two women clicked. They had bonded over their lack of culinary skills one night in the near empty aisles of a twenty-four hour grocery store, and, since that fateful evening two years before, they had been as close as two individuals fearful of relationships could be. Their age difference didn't matter, and the fact that they had nothing in common besides their odd food habits didn't prevent them from spending time together. So that was why on that particular Friday night, Alexis Davis found herself in a tiny apartment with her feet up watching _The Golden Girls_ and eating microwave popcorn, her contribution to their evening meal, and brownies, Elizabeth's contribution.

It was their thing, and she did not foresee it being altered any time in the near or distant future.

"How's Patrick?"

The lawyer had met her friend's brother once, the year before at the younger woman's rather intimate birthday party, and, though she had found the doctor to be insufferable, she knew her friend loved her sibling and missed him since moving out on her own the month before. Plus, seeing as how Elizabeth was preparing the DVD so they could watch the next episode, the two women had a few moments of silence to communicate. Neither, when they were together, talked much, despite being excellent communicators. Instead, they found that with each other they were finally able to be quiet and still be understood.

"Probably diseased," the petite brunette beside the attorney grumbled, crossing her arms and pouting at the thought of her brother, "and, no doubt, losing IQ points as we speak."

Alexis nodded in agreement, ticking her head to the side in understanding. "Blondes tend to do that to a man."

They fell silent once again.

"And you," Elizabeth prompted, darting a sideways glance at the older woman, "did you do what I told you to do?"

"Yes," she nodded, agreeing quickly for the next episode was starting and she knew her friend would want to sing along with the theme song. "I put a paper bag in all my purses, in the glove compartment of my car, in my briefcase, and I even stashed a couple around my office at work just in case."

"Good."

The quiet descended again as the two women allowed the characters on screen to speak for them. Alexis considered herself most like Dorothy, and she knew Elizabeth was a perfect mixture of Rose, Blanche, and Sophia. And that was why they got along so splendidly. She got to be practical, and her friend provided her with all the other traits she was lacking. Thankfully, however, neither of them had a penchant for cheesecake.


	4. Chapter 4

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Four  
****FF#264: The angel on my ride ain't hangin' out with me tonight.**

It was late, and Elizabeth knew she should be in bed, but she couldn't sleep. Hell, she couldn't even rest; her mind was too intent upon working overtime to allow her any kind of mental or physical respite. Luckily, Alexis did not have the same problem. Somewhere in between one of Blanche's many men and a St. Olaf story, her friend had fallen asleep on her couch, sprawled out comfortably with her head tossed back to rest against a cushion and her arms hugging one of Elizabeth's overstuffed and extra soft chenille throw pillows. Even with the TV still on, the DVD player running through a continual loop of the main menu, the older woman snored on, the soft, nasal sound of her slumber bringing a smile to Elizabeth's face.

She knew Alexis wouldn't mind if she went into her bedroom and closed the door, but the art supply store owner knew that her bedroom would offer no peace or relief. Even after living on her own for a month, the brunette was still not used to the fact that there was no one down the hall if she needed them. Truth be told, she missed her brother. She knew that it made sense for her to move out. Patrick would soon be ready to settle down and start a family of his own, not that she believed Carly would be by his side when he did so, and having his kid sister always on his coattails would do little to inspire romance or commitment. Plus, it was good for her as well. The independence was refreshing, something she had never truly had, it allowed her more time to focus on her business, and it was forcing her to go out and make more friends, something she had always been hesitant to do in the past.

However, she still hated the nights. They were too quite, too lonely, too haunting. The dark made her remember, and remembering was never a good thing. In the daylight, she could consider the ghosts of her past dead and buried, but, after the sun set and the world around her went to bed, Elizabeth was left with nothing but her memories, and she hated it and them. As she watched her good friend stir beside her, the older woman's brow wrinkled in concentration and awareness even while she was dreaming, she couldn't help but wonder if that was what truly drew them to each other. Yes, they both had odd if not eccentric palates, but they also had secrets.

Unlike the brunette, Alexis was more open about her history. Elizabeth knew that the woman had little to no family, at least none that she was close to, she knew that when her friend was a little girl, something tragic took both her mother and her sister from her, leaving a frightened and troubled Alexis alone in the world to be raised by people who couldn't stand her, and she knew that it was her childhood that caused her friend to have panic attacks. Most of the time, the lawyer was able to control the memories, to curtail and prevent them from drawing out her fear, but two weeks before she had been at the courthouse to file some simple, real estate related paperwork when open gunfire had erupted, killing one man and injuring three others. Caught in the middle of the crosshairs, Alexis had been frozen, too trapped in her past to react and flee. That's when the panic attack had seized her.

With no emergency contacts, the hospital had been forced to call Elizabeth. Dutifully, like any good friend would do, she had rushed to the attorney's bedside, and, since then, she had carefully, tentatively started to look after the older woman, insisting that she always have a paper bag on hand, programming her own cell number into Alexis' for easy dialing, and she had even tried to get her to go to the gym with her, thinking that, perhaps, if her friend knew how to defend herself, being faced with danger and violence wouldn't paralyze her as severely as it had two weeks prior. So far, the ever anti-exercise Alexis still refused to work out with her, but Elizabeth was tenacious if not downright obstinate, and, eventually she would get her way.

However, she wouldn't push Alexis too much. After all, if anyone understood the idea of fear, she certainly did, but Elizabeth refused to allow her mind to go there; she refused to give in to the pressure to remember, for it would do nothing but render her useless for several hours until the sun came back up. Instead, she decided to be proactive; she decided to take her own advice.

Scribbling a quick note to her friend, the brunette turned off the television, made sure that Alexis was covered up with a blanket, and quickly changed her clothes. She wasn't sure why the local gym was open all night, and, in fact, despite being a rather curious person, she didn't want to know. If her friend's experience at the courthouse wasn't evidence enough, she worked at the _No Name_, and she was certainly not a fool. There were dangerous things that went on in the city she called home, things she had no business or any interest in knowing about. That said, though, she did enjoy the perks and the convenience of having a twenty-four gym located right on her block.

And for that reason and that reason alone, Milo Giambetti, the gym's owner, was her friend.

On the surface, Alan Morgan was a kind, loving, and generous father, but, underneath the veneered smile and twinkling eyes, he was a businessman first and a father second. Yes, he loved his son, and, in his own way, he tried to do what was best for him, but, in the past, the only thing his sentimentality got him was ostracized from his family and penniless. That was why he had initially agreed to his boss' idea to make Jason his heir, and that was why, even with his son, he pretended to be one thing when he was really another.

After being stricken from the Quartermaine family bible, his mother had been the only person who had continued to speak with him. They would meet for lunch, and he would bring an infant Jason along to see her. Immediately, she had taken to his son, seeing herself reflected back at her in his little boy's crystal clear blue eyes, and, throughout the years, Lila and Jason had formed a special, close bond to each other. Even after Alan had gone to work for Sonny, his mother and his son had continued to communicate with each other. Although they rarely saw one another, Lila's health confining her to the mansion and Jason's newfound wealth and position in the underworld curtailing where he could go and who he could see, they would write letters back and forth and, occasionally, talk on the phone.

There had been times when Alan had been jealous of his own mother, believing Jason to favor the elderly woman over him, the man who had given up everything in his life to keep and raise his bastard son. Eventually though, the doctor figured out that he could use his child's love for his grandmother against him, directing Jason's mind and behavior by asking him to think about what Lila would want him to do. And then, once his mother passed away, Alan had gotten the ultimate control over his willful and private then teenage son… though Jason had never realized it.

From an early age, Jason had been fascinated with motorcycles. Where he had ever come in contact with one long enough to form an attachment to the deathtraps on wheels, Alan would never know, but, as soon as he had gotten his license, Jason had used his savings to purchase himself an old, beat-up, and broken Harley. In his spare time, after school and sports, he had fixed the bike up, practiced riding it, and, once he was ready, he had gotten his motorcycle license, despite his father's wishes. The bike had proved to be even more of a nuisance than the physician had assumed it would be. Because of his maneuverability, his son had been able to outrun his guards and escape the tight reigns he and Sonny had deemed necessary for the future leader of the Corinthos crime family. However, Lila's death had provided Alan with the perfect opportunity to keep tabs on his son.

That opportunity had come in the shape of a tiny tracking device, fitted to look like an angel. It was attached to the motorcycle, and Alan had given it to his son, claiming that, wherever he went, the angel would remind him of his grandmother, that it would watch over him and keep him safe just as she was from heaven. To put his and his boss' business interests first, he had betrayed his child's trust, but, in an attempt to make up for the duplicity, he kept the tracking device to himself, never letting Sonny know about it.

So, when his friend had come to him that evening, demanding Jason's immediate return, Alan did what he always did; he used the tracking device to locate his wayward son and went after him. However, although his actions had solved the pressing problem, the second in command still needed a way to permanently control Sonny's heir, but, before he resorted to more treachery, he was going to try one last time to talk some sense into his son. Approaching the younger man slowly, he kept his steps light so that Jason would not be alerted to his presence. The blonde was on the phone, and Alan wanted to hear what or who exactly was so important, it or they had to be discussed in the middle of the night.

"What do you mean she just left her building, Francis? It's almost two in the morning. Where the hell could she be going?"

Now, that, Alan thought to himself was an interesting development. Apparently, there was a she in his son's life, and, judging by the note of desperation in the younger man's voice, the doctor would almost bet their relationship was more than simply platonic. Unfortunately though, before he could listen to anything else, a twig beneath his loafer snapped, alerting Jason to his presence.

"I've got to go," the blue eyed man across from him barked into his cell. "Someone's here. Keep me posted." Angrily, Jason ended his call. Turning to fully face his father, he glared. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"By coincidence," Alan lied easily, leaning to rest against the stone bridge the two of them were standing on. "It's beautiful out here. When I can't sleep, sometimes I go for a drive. I've been past this place before, but I've never stopped. I don't know what it was, but something compelled me to tonight." Feigning sorrow, he whispered, "maybe it was your grandmother. Maybe she could sense that we needed each other this evening and sent us both to this place."

Immediately, at the mention of Lila, his son relaxed, appearing calm and willing to talk. "I miss her."

"I do, too."

"I come out here a lot," Jason revealed, sweeping his hand out to gesture towards the overgrown property they were standing on. "I found this place right after she passed away, and I would come out here just to be, you know." His son's voice was soft, almost reverent. "It was the only place I could find peace for a long time. Eventually, I started coming out here more. When I had something on my mind, this is where I came. When I needed to be by myself or needed to get some work done, for some reason, I was always drawn to this bridge."

Curious, Alan found himself asking, "do you know who owns the property? The last thing we need is for you to be handcuffed and taken down to the PCPD for trespassing one of these nights. Sonny would just love that."

"Not everything is about Sonny," the younger man snapped, pulling away from him both physically and emotionally. "And, besides, you have nothing to worry about. The guy who owns this place knows that I come here. He won't call the cops on me."

"That's good."

Sighing and finally showing some signs of exhaustion, both towards the situation they were in and because of the time, Jason changed the topic. "So, what's on your mind? Why couldn't you sleep?"

"You need to come back with me tonight," the father said gently, not wanting to rush the conversation he knew they were about to have. "It's time."

And they both knew what it was time for. It was time for Jason to step into the shoes he was destined to fill. It was time for the heir to take his place by the current kingpin, to learn all he could about the empire he would one day inherit. It was time for his wings to be clipped. But, when his son moved voluntarily towards his bike that was parked off to the side, never once arguing or attempting to fight the role he was being forced to fulfill, Alan became wary.

Things were changing, things he didn't understand, and, if he wanted to maintain his control on the situation, he had to play catch up and fast. Apparently, he wasn't the only Morgan with a plan, and that thought did not sit well with him. Not at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Five  
****FF#265: Dance with my heart but stay with its beat.**

It had been seven days since her last TV night with Elizabeth, and, if Alexis was honest with herself, she'd admit that she had caved like a West Virginian coal mine. After waking up groggy and disoriented a week before, she had noticed her best… and only friend fluttering around the small apartment in a relaxed and calm manner, almost as if the younger woman hadn't a care in the world, something the attorney knew to be false. So, curious, she had hinted and prodded, never coming out and asking directly, as to what had made the other woman so happy. She had been disgusted to hear that it had been a visit to the gym Elizabeth was pushing her to join.

Unfortunately, her curiosity didn't stop there, and the very next day, she found herself going with her friend. She had made it inside the front door, smelled the overpowering stench of male perspiration, and fled as quickly as her practical yet still attractive leather pumps would allow her. The next evening, with Elizabeth again at her side, she managed to stay a full fifteen minutes before her aversion to anything physically draining forced her to come up with an excuse to leave, but, five days later, here she was again, sitting in a gym, and, for the first time in her life, she was finding that she could enjoy violence.

But, then again, violence really wasn't the proper term for boxing. Instead, Alexis found it to be a graceful art. The men in the ring circling each other weren't fighting out of hatred or anger but merely competition. Their movements resembled dancing more than they did aggressive attacks, and, because they were only training, the fights were stopped before anyone became seriously hurt. Plus, the men were shirtless and all physically fit. Even if she didn't care to exercise, she could still appreciate the results while viewing others.

"Hello, Miss Davis."

"Mr. Giambetti," she greeted the gym's proprietor as he came to sit down beside her that evening. Smiling softly at him, she held out the bag of popcorn she was consuming, offering him some, but he declined which suited her appetite just fine. Although the younger man's sheer size and slightly flirtatious manner made her nervous, there was no reason why she couldn't be polite. Besides, if Elizabeth trusted him enough to befriend him, then she surely she could, too.

"You know," Milo suggested, nodding his head towards the ring, "if you like boxing, I could get one of the guys around here to give you a few lessons."

"No thank you. I prefer to just sit here and watch." Peering over the edge of her glasses, the lawyer observed her companion, rolling her eyes when he snickered at her comment. Not wanting to discuss herself, she edged the conversation in another direction. "What made you decide to open a gym… if you don't mind me asking?"

He shrugged. "No, it's cool." Silently, for several moments, the owner contemplated his answer. Finally, he responded. "I guess there wasn't much else I could do. I wasn't book smart like you are, Miss Davis, and I didn't want to go and work with my brother."

"Ah, the family business didn't appeal to you then?"

It was her turn to stifle a snicker when the younger man reddened in embarrassment. "Max is a good guy, and his job gives him the chance to live a good life. In fact, he was the one who co-signed for my loan, so I could open this place up. I just… well, no offense," he prefaced his next statement while glancing towards her attire. "I didn't want to wear a suit everyday."

Of all the discussions she had imagined herself having… "So, I take it Max, your brother, he doesn't mind wearing a suit?"

"He has a great tailor," Milo rationalized. Quiet descended upon them once again, and both sets of their eyes turned towards the ring where the two men boxing continued their polished battle of both skill and intellect, anticipating their opponent's next move and attempting to both counteract and initiate their own assault at the same time. "Well, I have some work to do in the office. If you need anything…"

And, just like he did every night after stopping by to speak with her, the gym owner stood up and moved his way back into the tiny office he occupied in the rear of the building. Even though she didn't mind their short, friendly conversations, Alexis always sighed a breath of relief when the younger man went away. Her whole life was filled with communication, whether she was arguing in court, meeting with clients, or drafting some form of letter or contract, but, during the past week while she lingered and watched at the gym, she found a place for herself where she could stop thinking, stop communicating, and simply relax. It might have seemed odd to someone on the outside looking into her life, but odd was just par for the course for the eccentric attorney.

Refocusing upon the ring, she realized that two of her favorite boxers were dancing around each other that night. She didn't know who they were by name, but she had memorized their looks and fighting style, storing away their traits as a way she could identify them.

Dressed in blue shorts, there was perhaps the oldest of the men who frequented the gym. He wasn't overly tall or even extremely built, but he had an elegance that many of the other fighters were lacking, and Alexis knew that he was able to win most of his matches by sheer mental supremacy alone. She liked his quiet nature. Unlike some of the men, he wasn't boastful either in the ring or out, and she had always thought that it was more tasteful for one to privately enjoy their wins instead of publicly congratulating themselves. Plus, the purely feminine part of her could admit that he was an attractive man – blonde with a light complexion and what appeared to be light eyes. But her favorite thing about him was the way he smiled. The gesture was soft and kind, and it told the brunette that, despite the man's prowess in the ring, he would never hurt her or anyone else without provocation.

The second boxer that evening seemed to be the class clown of the group. Although it was obvious that both his height and physical fitness provided him with the tools to be a proficient fighter, he was always playing around and goofing off, never taking the matches… or his dress too seriously. For example, that evening, he had on dark purple shorts, something she knew few men would be able to get away with at that particular gym. His brown hair always seemed to be slightly ruffled and wild, and his eyes, though she could not discern their color, twinkled with amusement. He was younger than his competitor and always laughing, but, underneath his apparent joviality, she could sense a seriousness and professionalism that would only make an appearance when necessary.

Then there was a bulky, dark haired man that resembled Milo, and Alexis could only guess that it was her new acquaintance's brother. He was quieter than the jokester of the group but not as reflective as the only blonde haired boxer. Although probably the worst fighter of all the men, she could tell that his sheer size and strength would prove to be his biggest asset on the job, so finesse and grace were unneeded. Max, if her assumptions were correct, always partnered with another dark haired boxer who, despite not being as hefty as Milo's brother, was equally as tall. She thought she had heard someone referring to him as Ritchie, but, because she was often distracted by newcomers or her own personal thoughts while watching the men spar, she could never be too sure that she had been listening carefully enough to decipher a name out of the cacophony of sounds surrounding her in the gym.

As the two men in the ring, blue shorts and purple shorts as she was calling them that evening, finished their match, she started to pack up her things. She was out of popcorn, and her bottle of Diet Coke was almost empty, so she needed to restock at home. Plus, she was tired, and the men getting into the ring next, although both guards as well, did not hold her attention nearly as well. It was obvious that they were not as important in rank as the other men who frequented the gym, and she had yet to determine much of a personality from them, and, without some sort of telltale mannerism or niche for them to fill, they didn't interest her. So, without a word to anyone, she stood from her chair and left, eager to return to her apartment for the night, to shower, and to settle into her large, pristine couch with a large bowl of freshly made microwavable popcorn.

It had been seven long days of meeting and lectures, instructions and egotistical tirades, and Jason had finally managed to escape from underneath Sonny's thumb for a few hours of peace and quiet. Knowing he had more duties to attend to that evening, he had refrained from taking the bike out, for, once he was on the road with the wind rushing past him and the speed numbing his mind, he would never want to return to the constricting confines of his life. So, instead, he had settled for a trip to the bookstore, eager to find some new reading material. If he couldn't physically escape from his life, he would have to mentally do so instead. Plus, it didn't hurt that the bookstore he chose to go to that evening was the one directly beside Elizabeth's art supply store. Although he wasn't planning on attempting to see her, he certainly wouldn't argue with a chance run in.

"Welcome to my humble establishment, Kindly Patron. Are you perusing for a certain tome, or could the Jackal assist you by directing you towards a particular sector of manuscripts?"

"The Jackal?"

The strange man across from Jason nodded his head emphatically, raising to place one hand directly over his heart in what, he supposed, was supposed to be a sincere gesture of assurance. "It is what all my responsive and affable acquaintances refer to me as."

Ignoring the other man's nod of pleasantry, the blonde demanded, "non-fiction, preferably books on architecture, horticulture, or motorcycles."

Surprised, the store owner screwed his face up in question. "Really?"

Frustrated, Jason stomped off to find the books for himself, but, before he could truly move to search the store, the man who referred to himself in both the third person and by a nickname, stood in front of him, blocking his path.

"Not that I deem myself capable of inferring anything about you, your personality, or your interests, but wouldn't you like to, perhaps, try something new?" With wide, innocent eyes, the fair brunette pressed. "There is a broad and engaging section here of fantasy books." Shrugging in a self-congratulatory manner, he beamed, "after all, that is The Jackal's specialty. I could, if you would be so inclined, recommend some of my beloved and most cherished volumes for your insightful and inquisitive examination."

Just as the older man was about to lose his temper and simply walk out, the door behind them opened, the bell above it pealing throughout the tiny, hole-in-the-wall store, alerting anyone inside to a new customer's presence.

"Spinelli," a joyous, haunting, laughing voice admonished from behind him, "let the poor man get whatever he wants. Not all of us like _Lord of the Rings_ and _Harry Potter_ as much as you do."

And, just like that, she was there.


	6. Chapter 6

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Six  
****FF#266: "You know how to whistle, don't you? Just pucker up your lips and blow."**

Francis Corelli entered into his best friend's penthouse with a feeling of trepidation. He wasn't a successful bodyguard in the mafia for nothing. He had many skills that served him well in his _career_, one of which was knowing how to and believing in himself enough to follow his instincts, and, as his always observant eyes adjusted to the dark, shadowed lighting of Jason's penthouse, his instincts were telling him three things. Something had changed. Something was wrong. And a woman was involved.

He found the man he was meeting standing sentinel at the balcony doors, a scowl marring his otherwise stoic face. He didn't react when the door to his apartment opened, he didn't greet his friend, he didn't turn around as Francis progressed across the room to stand beside him, and he never once tore his gaze away from the dawning sky. The dark circles under the younger man's eyes told the guard that his companion hadn't slept at all, and the rigid set to the younger man's shoulders told him that his companion wouldn't be resting anytime soon. Although the realizations immediately made him feel concern for his friend, the older man shrugged it away, knowing it was both unwelcome and unproductive. If nothing else, Jason had called him to the penthouse to help him fix something, to get his advice, and to formulate a plan. He certainly didn't need his only confidant showing weakness before a single word was even spoken between the two of them. So, with that in mind, Francis folded his strong, dependable arms across his equally steady chest and mimicked the pose of his friend, face devoid of emotion and eyes trained upon the unknown.

Without preamble, the blonde to his left was the first to break the silence. "I saw her yesterday."

He had been right – their impromptu meeting was about a woman, one Elizabeth Webber, but, instead of teasing his best friend or even saying her name, the bodyguard avoided the common response and got straight to the point, something he knew Jason would appreciate. "Did she remember you?"

"Yes."

"Where did you see her?"

"At a bookstore," the younger man answered. When Francis fell quiet, once again, waiting for more information, he pressed on. "I needed something new to read, so I decided to try out that store on Lake Street."

The dark haired man knew what store his friend was referring to – it was the store directly beside the Webber girl's art supply store, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Apparently, Jason had tired of waiting to accidentally run into the petite brunette and, instead, masterminded an easily explainable reason to be in her vicinity. If he was honest with himself and Francis always was, he would have to admit he was surprised his companion had been able to wait as long as he had to see the young woman again.

Finally, he inquired, "and I take it you didn't want to see me about the books you purchased, did you?"

Jason chuckled, finally breaking free of his emotional restraint. The small moment of camaraderie made the older man sigh in relief. "Yeah, not exactly."

"Alright then," the guard urged, "tell me what happened."

"Alright, so let me get this straight," Alexis prefaced her summary of her friend's account of the past day. It was early, Elizabeth had come knocking on her apartment door way before the attorney had planned to be up that morning, and she had yet to ingest a gallon or two of caffeine. They were sitting together in the older woman's living room… or, to be more precise, she was sitting and the artist was pacing in front of her very comfortable couch. Clearing her throat quickly, she continued. "Yesterday, you went to see the friend of yours that owns the bookstore next to your shop, and, when you walked in, you happened to find one very annoyed heir to the local mob engaged in exchanging less than friendly words with Mr. Spinelli. But, low and behold, he wasn't just any mob heir, he also happened to be the same tall, tan, and blue eyed devil that flirted with you the very first night you ever worked at _The_ _No Name_, the man I've heard about a countless times who carded you when you tried to card him at the bar, the man who, for a few minutes that first night you were in Port Charles, made you forget everything but the banter the two of you were sharing, the man you've always found yourself wondering about whenever you had a quiet moment alone."

"You make it sound as if I have feelings for him or something, Alexis," Elizabeth scoffed, rolling her eyes as she poured herself a glass of water from the lawyer's bar and drank it rapidly without pausing. "It's nothing like that. I simply… found him interesting, and you know how very few people inspire that reaction in me."

"Not that I wouldn't enjoy arguing with you, because, let's face it, I would, the fact that you can't admit to having a crush on this man is not the most important issue right now. Right now, I'm more concerned about the fact that, when you saw him with Mr. Spinelli, you didn't turn tail and run in the opposite direction as fast as your legs could carry you."

"Well, I couldn't leave the two of them there to fend for themselves. Someone had to bridge the communication gap."

The older woman closed her eyes in frustration, groaning under her breath. "And, of course, you felt the need to volunteer your services."

Elizabeth shrugged. "It was fun. I've never been a translator before, and you know what they say about new experiences...

"Alright fine, moving on," the attorney suggested, leaving no room for argument. "Tell me what happened next."

"After I cleared the air between Spinelli and Jason…"

"So the two of you are on a first name basis now," Alexis screeched, interrupting her younger friend. "When did this happen?"

"Five years ago."

Shaking her head in dismay, the brown eyed woman collapsed back against the cushions of her couch, beating her head against the padded edge. "This just keeps getting worse."

The artist ignored her. "Like I was saying, after I diffused of the situation between the two of them, I helped show Jason around the store. We recommended various books to each other, shared some small talk, and then he left."

"Why do I get the feeling it wasn't nearly as innocent as you lead me to believe it was. What else are you leaving out?"

Francis smiled at his younger friend, pleased for him. "So, she agreed to be your friend. That's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah," the man beside him responded with a grin of his own. "Yeah, it is, but I'm going to have to be careful."

Somewhere during their discussion, the two of them had stepped away from the window and started to play pool together, the game and their repetitive, rote actions helping to both ease them into their conversation and to calm Jason into a sense of trust and relaxation.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, one of the things we talked about was her reason for switching shifts at _The_ _No Name_." Before continuing, the blue eyed man stopped talking, eyed his next shot, and proceeded to make it before explaining. "Like I told you, she was new in town when we first met, so she really didn't know who I was or…"

"Or who you were associated with," the bodyguard filled in.

"Exactly," Jason replied. "Plus, she didn't know anything about this town, the fierce competition for the waterfront, or the crime element present here, all of which I'm connected to. Once she learned more about her new home, she realized that the restaurant she had been hired at was a hotbed for illegal activity, so she spoke with her boss and got her shift changed. At the time, she couldn't afford to quit, and, at this point, she's comfortable with the place because she knows that the restaurant is never used for meetings in the early morning."

"And how does this affect your friendship?"

"She doesn't like what Sonny and my father do," the younger man confessed rather uneasily, pinching the bridge of his nose before tossing his pool cue onto the still in-play table. Backing away from it, he spun around to face the empty fireplace before speaking again, his voice softer the second time. "What we do. So, I don't want this life to touch her. When I see her, I will never talk about the things I am forced to do for the business, and, more importantly, no one can ever become aware of her presence in my life, certainly not my Dad and especially not Sonny."

"I understand," Francis nodded, accepting the younger man's comments. "I'll pull the rotation of guards I put on her."

Before he could make his way towards the penthouse door, Jason's next words stopped him. "You can't do that. In fact, I want you to step up her security. Don't let her know that we have people watching her, but make sure she always has a guard, twenty-four, seven, and I only want the men you would trust with your own life working on this, the men that you trust enough to keep her a secret."

"And are you going to tell her about the guards?"

"I can't," his best friend admitted with a weary sigh. "She hates violence, Francis - is petrified of it. I don't know why, but I have a feeling it has something to do with her past, but she's obviously not comfortable sharing that part of her life with me, and I refuse to push her on the issue. She would hate to know that men who are trained to kill, men who are walking around with guns tucked into the back of their pants are following her, so, while I don't want to keep secrets from her, this is one thing she can't know." He paused momentarily, reflecting over his words before adding one last directive. "She can't ever know about them."

"I'm worried about you. I don't like this; I don't like this at all." Alexis stood from her spot on the couch and slowly approached her younger friend, hesitating slightly before wrapping one arm around the shorter woman's shoulders. While Elizabeth had explained her plans about being Jason Morgan's friend, about meeting him in out of the way places and pretending to accidentally run into her _former acquaintance_ when in public, she had held her tongue, keeping her comments to herself, but, now that the artist had finished, she couldn't remain quiet any longer. "You know, he's going to get you hurt. It doesn't matter how much protection he offers you or what the two of you plan, something will happen, and you'll be the one to pay the price for it."

"But that's just it. He's not going to offer me any protection."

"What do you mean?"

Elizabeth turned to face the attorney. "We're just friends, Alexis, so there won't be any bodyguards or security systems. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Jason and I are two individuals who live in the same small town who happen to occasionally run into each other from time to time. No one, besides you, is going to know that we're friends. That way, no one will know to come after me."

Begrudgingly, the brown eyed woman had to admit that her younger counterpart's plan seemed logical. "Alright, fine, so, perhaps, physically you'll be safe from harm, but what about emotionally?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"For now, the two of you have agreed to be friends," the lawyer explained, "but what's going to happen when someone decides they want more than friendship?"

Dismissing her concerns with a simple wave of her hand, the blue eyed brunette denied, "that will never happen."

"Men and women are rarely just friends, Elizabeth. No matter how pure your intentions might be, things change, feelings change, and, eventually, one day, one of you or both of you, for that matter, will wake up and realize that you have some very un-friend-like feelings for your just friend. It's not a question of if but a question of when, and, when that happens, the two of you will either decide to go your separate ways which will end up hurting you emotionally, or you'll decide to try dating which will only bring up the whole question of your safety again, because, while he might be able to hide a platonic friendship from the mob, there's no way he'd be able to hide a girlfriend, a lover, or a wife."

She felt as if she had made a strong case, that her younger friend had listened with rapt interest to what she had to say, and that she would understand and act accordingly, but, instead of accepting Alexis' good advice, the artist simply shrugged away from the attorney's embrace, laughed, and went to gather her things.

"You worry too much," Elizabeth admonished her. "Nothing is going to happen to me. Like I said, Jason and I are just friends, and that's all we'll ever be. You know that I don't date, and he would never see me in that way, so you have nothing to worry about." The older woman watched as her friend graced her with a reassuring smile before continuing. "Thanks for listening to me and for not telling me what to do despite how much I know you wanted to. I'll see you later."

And, with that, she left Alexis alone feeling apprehensive, scared, and slightly envious, because, no matter what her younger friend said, she wasn't as emotionally detached as she claimed to be, something the lawyer herself could not assert. While Elizabeth might be setting herself up to be hurt, at least she was open to feeling something for someone else, for a man; after all, Alexis certainly wasn't.


	7. Chapter 7

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Seven  
****FF#267: "From Santa… by way of a friend."**

They had officially been friends for less than a week, and they were already compromising… peacefully… without guns, threats of violence or retaliation, and bribery. It was the most adult relationship Jason had ever had, and it was refreshing. Considering the fact that he and Elizabeth were both slightly obsessed with the idea of control, in the same vein as Bill Gates was slightly wealthy and eating a stick of butter was slightly unhealthy, it was also no small feat.

While she had wanted to meet for breakfast at a little coffee bistro down the street from her store, Jason had been leery of being seen in public together, especially if their run-in appeared planned, and, while he had wanted to show her the bridge, his bridge, Elizabeth was still slightly fearful of riding on the back of his motorcycle. So, in order to reach a middle ground, they had agreed to split the planning duties. He was to bring the food, and she got to choose their out of the way, rather clandestine meeting place. The result had been a picnic breakfast at an old abandoned boxcar.

With the late morning sun shining down upon them, the two friends sat lounging, neither concerned about anyone finding them. The boxcar was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods, and they were free to talk and laugh, smile and tease in private. Propped up against the side of the old, forgotten railroad equipment, Jason watched as Elizabeth hung upside down over the edge, her legs and torso resting against the cool wooden planks of the car while her head hung over the side, her hair blowing restlessly in the late October breeze. It was nice – feeling so carefree and relaxed around someone else and knowing that they felt the same way about you – having no expectations, no rules, and no inherited kingdoms hanging over them… at least for the little while.

Breaking the stillness, the blonde asked, "how did you find this place?"

"I was taking a walk, got lost in my head, and ended up here," Elizabeth shared, shrugging her shoulders as if the memory was too unimportant to recount. "Living in a city has many advantages, but sometimes I just need to get away, you know, and just be. I need a few minutes of quiet everyday, so I take walks. It's good for my sanity and great for my painting."

He mulled the thought over, absorbing it, and relishing the fact that they had that certain trait in common – the need for silence. "And what do you paint?"

"Everything and anything," the young store owner shared, "although my favorites tend to be abstract landscapes and nature inspired impressionist pieces."

"My grandmother loved nature. She was a gardener. If her doctors would have allowed it, I think she would have lived outside with her roses during the summer."

"Roses are beautiful," she agreed, closing her eyes in order to conjure up a mental picture of the treasured flower in her mind, "but they're a little too perfect for me. I like the untamed, wild flowers, the ones you accidentally stumble across growing in a secluded glen or the ones that sneak up and surprise you by taking root under a giant, ancient oak tree. I guess I can identify more with their beauty than I can with the nurtured, trained plants… like a rose."

"But you can never quite tame a rose," Jason contradicted her, hiding a smile when her eyes flashed open to watch him carefully. Explaining, he continued, "it doesn't matter how careful you are with them or how much time and energy you spend in growing them, they can still turn around and betray you, either with their thorns or by simply dying. Roses are not easy plants to grow, especially in our upstate New York climate. My Grandmother always said rose gardening was part an art form and part a gamble; the flowers, just like the wild ones that grow in the woods, are just as resilient, just as stubborn but in a completely different way."

"You know," the painter mused, sitting up and crossing her legs before her, "you never talk about your family. I think your Grandmother is the only person you've ever mentioned. You must be really close with her," Elizabeth realized, smiling softly at the idea. "I'd like to meet her… and her roses."

"And I would introduce you to her, but she passed away a years ago. As for her garden, it's never been the same since she died."

"And the rest of your relatives," the brunette prompted him.

"There's my Dad, but we're not close," Jason shared, "despite the fact that he gave up everything, including his family, for me." Shrugging, he admitted, "we're just too different. It's impossible for us to understand each other."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, I can certainly identify with that."

As both of them fell quiet, simply observing the other, he tilted his head in concentration, making Elizabeth blush. "You know, in a way, you remind me of my Grandmother."

"What was her name?"

"Lila," he responded before continuing. "Despite your apparent gentle nature, you possess a strength and warmth that she had, too. You might not be the biggest or loudest person in a room, but when you speak, people stop and listen, they take notice of you and respect what you have to say and who you are."

Graciously, the young artist stated, "thank you."

"It's the truth," Jason replied simply. Standing up, he jumped down from the boxcar. "Wait here," he instructed her. "I'll be right back." With that, he ran off towards his parked bike, hidden a few yards away behind some brush. As he moved, he could feel her gaze burning into his sweater covered back. Moments later, he returned, holding out in his palm the reason for his sudden, unexpected behavior. "I'd like you to have this."

Curious, Elizabeth lifted the small ornament, turning it over and examining it. "What is it?"

"After my Grandmother died, my Dad gave this angel to me. He told me that, since she wasn't around anymore to physically watch out for me, that this would remind me that she's now watching over me. I've kept it on my bike since the day he gave it to me, but I want you to have it. I know that Lila will always be there for me, but now, with this, she can be there for you, too."

"Jason," the brunette protested, attempting to give the angel back to him but he evaded her hand. "I can't accept this."

"Of course you can."

"But it's important to you," she argued.

"And you're my friend," he explained, "my friend that I can't physically watch out for but whom I can watch over just as my Grandmother watches over me and, hopefully, you as well. Please, Elizabeth," he urged her. "I really want you to take it."

Smirking, she obliged, pretending to be exasperated with his insisting actions. "You just somehow found out that my birthday is tomorrow, didn't you? Well, for your information, I hate birthdays."

"I do, too, and, no," the blonde disputed, "I had no idea your birthday was tomorrow. This was merely a coincidence, a spur of the moment idea that ended up working out to my advantage."

Without a word of communication, she stood up and he helped her down. As he walked her towards her parked car, knowing he'd have to double back to pick up his bike before leaving, she started to tease him. "You know, Morgan, it's really classy of you to re-gift a present from your own father." He ignored her, and she continued. "It definitely shows me where I rank in your life."

And they both knew, because of the nature of the present, that she ranked quite highly.

Carly Roberts was not a very happy woman. After living with Patrick Webber for more than a month, she had been sent on her first shopping excursion with her boyfriend's credit card, and she wasn't even allowed to buy something for herself. It wasn't that she didn't like her boyfriend or want to be with him because she cared about him, but she also expected him to treat her well, to show her through extravagant gifts and grand romantic gestures just how much he loved her. After all, he was a doctor, and she knew that he could afford it. However, life with Patrick was not what she thought it would be.

While he paid the rent, he felt it was only fair that she share in the household expenses, designating it her responsibility to pay for the utilities. They each paid for their own car payments, insurance, and cell phone bills, they kept separate checking accounts, and there was no joint savings account anywhere in their foreseeable future. It wasn't as though he was stingy with her. Occasionally he would surprise her with flowers or chocolate, but, in her opinion, her jewelry box was rather empty for a neurosurgeon's girlfriend, and her ATM card did not have near the amount of money on it that she felt it should.

But, yet, here she was, with Doctor Patrick Drake's Visa in her hand at a department store, browsing for a gift, a gift that was not intended for her but for his judgmental, insufferable, brat of a little sister. If Carly blamed anyone for her boyfriend's rather stingy nature, she blamed Elizabeth Webber. The younger woman had made it a point to show her just how much she thought of the blonde, and it wasn't very much, and, despite the fact that Patrick had stayed with her even though his kid sister did not approve of their relationship, he still respected the artist's opinion and wanted her support. Carly believed that if she could either get rid of the sister or somehow get her on her side, Patrick would be like putty in her manicured hands.

That was not going to be an easy task though. She needed a plan, and, while she waited for a plan to materialize in her mind, she would attempt to bribe the brunette by buying her the most wonderful birthday present that her brother's money could afford. Unfortunately, Carly knew that Elizabeth would not like the things that she herself liked. The younger woman did not wear expensive jewelry, she hated fancy clothes, and she invested more worth in her friends than she did material possessions, something the interior designer could never understand. And, of course, Patrick had been absolutely no help.

When she had asked him for his advice, the doctor had hedged, plain out ignored her questions, and then, finally, admitted that he wanted to see how well she knew his sister. He thought it could be a bonding experience for the two women, he had said, but Carly knew that it was just a test, a test that could go a long way in determining just how long her relationship with the neurosurgeon lasted and what kind of gifts he would buy her when it was time for her birthday. Women weren't the only ones to play games; med did as well, but, luckily, for the blonde, no one could play the games better than Carly Roberts.

Against her better judgment, she had done some research into the little bitch's life. After discovering her friendship with a rather loosely lipped bookstore owner, Carly had questioned the strange, young man, and he had come through for her. With his help and assistance, she had figured out the perfect gift for the woman who could, if everything with Patrick went as planned, end up as her sister-in-law, and, now, as she wandered around the department store, she was looking for the final, finishing touch to the present. Not only would Elizabeth love the gift, but Carly knew that she would be astonished by her thoughtfulness and creativity, and, if Elizabeth was pleased, so would Patrick.

She only hoped that her boyfriend was so pleased that he allowed her to take his Visa out the day after his sister's birthday, so she could pick up a little… not so inexpensive treat for herself as well. Besides, there was nothing like retail therapy to help her mind spin and plot, twist and connive, and, with the task of getting Elizabeth Webber on her side, Carly was going to need every spark of her ingenuity and spunk to win over the pesky brunette, and, if there was anything that could motivate the older woman, it was the idea of landing herself a rich, respected husband. For now, Doctor Patrick Webber, neurosurgeon, would fit the bill well enough, and, unless a bigger fish in the pond came along, she was just going to have to settle, something she wasn't very fond of.


	8. Chapter 8

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Eight  
****FF#268: A big bag of money.**

Max Giambetti considered himself a pretty loyal guy. After all, if you wanted to survive in _the business_, you had to be. There were no if's, and's, or but's about it; if you weren't loyal, you were dead. The problem for Max was that he wasn't sure exactly who he was supposed to be loyal to, and, even though he always tried to do his job to the best of his ability, he had a feeling his confusion on the loyalty front would someday lead to his downfall or, worse, his demise.

First, there was the doc. If anyone deserved his loyalty, Alan Morgan did. He had taken Max, a streetwise punk of a kid, and gave him the chance to lead a good life. With a younger brother to support and little to no marketable skills, Max had turned to a life of petty crime after barely graduating from high school. He made enough for him and his little brother to get by on, but they were, by no means, comfortable. One day, he had made the poor decision of trying to pickpocket the wrong man, but, instead of either turning him into the cops or dealing out his own form of personal punishment, Doctor Morgan had offered him a job as a runner for the Corinthos-Morgan organization, and, being no dummy, Max had taken the older man up on his very generous offer.

Through hard work, dedication, and _loyalty_, he had risen in the ranks quickly, moving from being a runner to a security guard to one of the top bodyguards in the entire, expansive organization. He lived in a company provided apartment at Harbor View Towers, dressed in impressive Italian silk suits, drove insanely fast sports cars, and had enough money left over to help his little brother start a gym – a legal, honest, no strings attached gym. Not only was he good at his job, but he also liked what he did. The PCPD was crooked, and, although Max was never naïve enough to claim that he, his coworkers, and his bosses were straight as an arrow businessmen, he knew that they did more good for the small, harbor town than bad. They kept drugs off the street, they helped give prostitutes a second chance, and, unlike some of their competitors, they generally left the women and children alone. If it wasn't for the doc, he would either have been dead, in prison, or still lifting wallets and hotwiring cars, so, with that in mind, he felt a sense of loyalty to the medical professional.

Then there was the boss himself. While Max would never go so far as to say that he and Mr. Corinthos were friends, he did respect the don and was thankful for the job the Puerto Rican continued to pay him to do. Sure, the man had a temper, but, generally, he was an easy guy to work for. He worked hard, played hard, and expected his men to do the same thing. Who was Max to argue with that logic? Plus, as everyone on the eastern seaboard knew, Michael "Sonny" Corinthos was one of the most powerful figureheads in the underground crime circles. His name alone could instill fear into the common pimp or coke dealer, and his very appearance oozed confidence, strength, and it demanded respect. There was no way Max could not treat his boss with loyalty, and, if he even thought of the idea, he knew his body would be found a few weeks down the line with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead and a bullet hole drilled straight through his heart, executed mob style. While Alan Morgan had earned his loyalty, Sonny Corinthos demanded it.

Finally, there was Jason. Unlike the two older men, the young, future heir didn't earn or demand loyalty. Max gave it to him willingly, gladly, simply because they were friends. Despite the fact that they had grown up on opposite sides of the tracks, Jason had never treated the bodyguard any differently than he would his beloved Grandmother. They shot pool together, drank beer, and worked out with the other men at Milo's gym. Just as he knew Jason would do anything for him, Max would lay his life down for the older blonde. There was a camaraderie that existed between them, a brotherhood, and, instead of being forged from indebtedness or respect, it grew from shared laughter, knowing, mischievous smirks, and all-night poker tournaments.

The problem was though that Max was left with an unshakable loyalty to three very dissimilar men, men who believed in running the business differently, men who often disagreed with each other, men who, if it wasn't for their common bond of the mob, would probably have absolutely nothing to do with each other. So far, they had never pitted him against himself; their differences had never become so harsh, so defined, that he had been forced to choose sides, but he knew that day was rapidly approaching, and, when it did, Max had no idea how he would respond, whose loyalty would outweigh the others'. At that point, all he could hope for was that the tentative peace the three heads of their family had somehow brokered between them would last another day, giving him another twenty-four hours to figure out just exactly where he stood. Unfortunately, as he defended from his position by the door and watched both Mr. Corinthos and Doctor Morgan pace the length of the penthouse waiting for Jason to arrive at their previously scheduled meeting, he knew that it was a definite possibility that the calm would erupt and be destroyed that very afternoon.

Sonny was pissed. Despite the fact that he had asked his future heir to meet him at one o'clock, somewhere between his first cup of morning coffee to his first tumbler of morning scotch, the mafia don had changed his mind. Instead, he wanted Jason there earlier, but, unfortunately for Mr. Corinthos' barware and Max's eardrums, Jason's cell phone had been off, and no one could reach him. Because he didn't have a guard and because he refused to check in like a child, the blonde could often disappear for hours, days even, and no one would be able to find him except for the doc, but, apparently, whatever means the physician had of tracking down his son had failed that day, because, instead of being irrationally angry like Sonny, Alan appeared worried and downright nervous.

He had slipped out an hour before and returned almost immediately without Jason in tow, a first for the mob doctor. So, now it was simply a waiting game. Either Jason would arrive and the meeting could commence, or, before the younger man could join his older counterparts, Sonny would lose the tenuous control he had on his temper and simply explode. Max got his answer when the door to the penthouse was thrown open and his blonde friend ambled in as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Where the hell have you been," Sonny demanded instantly, clenching his fists and glaring at his soon-to-be replacement.

"Out."

"Now, Jason," Alan pleaded with his son. "We've already had this discussion. You can't simply run off anymore. You have commitments here that have to be met, obligations to live up to, duties to carryout."

"I'm well aware of that," the blonde in question stated as he went to pour himself a glass of water but, instead, found all the crystal smashed and ground practically to powder underneath his motorcycle booted feet. "And, like I promised, I'm here for our meeting. In fact," he retorted with a slightly sarcastic tone to his voice, "I'm even a little bit early." Lifting up his watch and turning his wrist around for both his father and Sonny to see the time, he smirked. "Would you look at that? 12:58."

"Enough of this," the Puerto Rican demanded, slicing an arm through the air as he bellowed his order. "I've had just about all of your disrespect that I can handle, Jason. When I say jump, you say how high. When I say sit, you ask where. And when I call you on your fucking cell phone, you answer before it even has a chance to ring. Is that clear?"

"What if I don't have any cell service?"

Despite the fact that the question was meant to be taken as a joke, Sonny simply growled in response, "then you never go anywhere that doesn't get cell reception."

Narrowing his gaze to match that of his mentor, the younger man wondered out loud, "should I just go out right now and buy myself a leash and collar? I'm your heir, Sonny, not your lapdog."

Flipping over a table, the mob boss shouted, "you're any damn thing I want you to be until I'm either dead or retired and living on the island."

"Don't worry, boss," Alan spoke up, attempting to pacify the rapidly unraveling don. "My son understands this, but, just like you, he's determined. In the end, it'll be a good trait for your successor to have, but, until the day that Jason takes over officially, we'll just have to be patient with him and help him learn when the time is appropriate for him to be willful and when it isn't." Turning beseechingly to his only child, the doctor pleaded with his eyes. "Right, Jason?" The only response he received was the blonde exhaling harshly and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Now, why don't we get down to business? Sonny, wasn't there something you wanted to give him this afternoon?"

Several moments passed as the Hispanic man evaluated the pros and cons of taking his personal physician's advice. Eventually, his good sense won out, and, without a word, he crossed the length of the penthouse, unlocked his middle desk drawer, and retrieved a finely carved, lavish wooden gun box.

"Since it has been decided that you'll be attending meetings with me in the near future," he explained to Jason, "I figured it was time for you to have this."

Slightly belligerently, Max heard his friend point out, "I already have a gun, the same one that I've been training with at the shooting range since I was thirteen."

"Yes, but this one is unmarked."

With a wrinkled, strained brow, the blonde asked, "and that matters exactly why?"

"Sometimes," Doctor Morgan clarified, "meetings don't go exactly as planned, and, when that happens, we have to use any means necessary to get them back on track. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

"I understand," Jason admitted through a tightly clenched jaw, turning away and leaving the gifted gun box in his mentor's still outstretched hands. "And what if I refuse?"

Without hesitation, Sonny stated, "you won't; you can't."

Whirling around in a fury, the younger man practically screamed, "I don't like guns. I don't carrying them on me, and I certainly don't like using them."

"Neither do I," the Puerto Rican smiled in agreement, his previous anger being replaced swiftly with amusement. With both dimples on display, he joked, "they ruin the line of my suits, and gun powder on my shirt cuffs is a bitch to have cleaned. But guns are more than an accepted part of this life, Jason; they're a requirement, an essential tool, a _necessary evil_. You'll get used to carrying one eventually. Now, here," he insisted, shoving the box into his heir's grasp. "Your first meeting is next week. From now until then, I want you to spend all your waking moments with this gun. Take it to the range, practice with it, become used to the feel of it in your hands until the point where it's no longer a foreign object you're holding but an extension of your arms."

Resigned, Jason went to do as he was told, but, before he could leave the penthouse to retire to his own, Sonny's voice stopped him once again. "Just one more thing." Once the younger man was turned around, the mafia don pressed, "if there's ever a time that I can't get in touch with you again, I'll find the person whose death would hurt you the most and use that very unmarked gun right there in your hands on them. Do I make myself clear?"

The slamming of the thick, practically impenetrable door was the only answer the don received. Pleased with the way the meeting went, Sonny went off towards his kitchen, leaving his bodyguard alone with his doctor.

"Max," Doctor Morgan motioned for the younger man to come to his side. "I have a job for you."

"Yes, sir," the Italian quickly accepted.

"I want you to do a little investigating for me. I want you to find out everything you can about one Elizabeth Imogene Webber."

"Is there anything in particular that I should be looking for?"

"No, no," Alan waved off, dismissing the guard's question. "It's nothing like that. You see," he explained, grinning slyly, "it appears that she has something of my son's, and I want it back."

"And what about Mr. Corinthos, sir," Max wondered out loud, looking in the direction in which his boss had retired. "I was supposed to be his guard until 7:00 when Adam was coming up to replace me."

"Just do what I ask, son," the doc requested, slapping the younger man on the back in a friendly manner, "and leave Mr. Corinthos to me."

As Max made his way out of the penthouse and onto the elevator, he realized that his previous fears had only been strengthened by the short meeting he had stood in on. Trouble was brewing between the three most powerful men in their organization, and, before it boiled over, he knew he was going to be caught in the scalding crosshairs. He only hoped he would be able to survive the burns.


	9. Chapter 9

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Nine  
****FF#269: Image: Liason all aglow the morning after, post you-know-what. (August – Pink Bedroom)**

In Elizabeth's opinion, there was only one good thing about birthdays, and that was the cake, but, unfortunately, before she was allowed to cut into the ooey-gooey, triple layered, German Chocolate dream of a birthday cake her favorite bakery had made just exactly to her own personal specifications, she had to go through and survive the very tiring ritual of opening her gifts, gifts she knew she wouldn't like but would have to pretend to. After all, never had anyone ever managed to buy her something that she truly liked or could enjoy.

Her parents, too concerned with their own lives and uninterested in knowing their youngest child, would simply give her money, telling her to buy herself whatever she wanted. Over the years, Patrick had tried, but, despite the fact that they were close, he was a typical male, and he had no idea what a woman really wanted. There had been frightening attempts at purchasing her clothing, nightmare inducing shopping trips where he and his credit card accompanied her and offered her a free-for-all at the mall, and there had even been an embarrassing surprise party that had ended in complete destruction of their parents' house and month long groundings for the both of them.

To make matters worse, this year, not only did she have to pretend to like her brother's gift, but he had also invited his barracuda of a girlfriend to celebrate with them and her two closest friends. It was one thing to disappoint her brother, because, to be frank, he was used to it, but she didn't want to hurt either of Alexis' or Spinelli's feelings by allowing them to see either her lack of excitement towards their gifts or her unfavorable opinion of birthdays. She hated that her attitude made her seem ungrateful, too, because, if anything, what she felt towards those in her life she was closest to was anything but ungrateful. She truly appreciated Patrick's unfailing love and support, she cherished the quiet nights she spent eating popcorn and brownies in front of the television with Alexis, and no one could make her laugh like Spinelli could, but she just wished that, for once, they could forget about her birthday. Perhaps, when she blew out the candles that year on her cake, that would be her wish for the next year.

"Alright," Patrick announced, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as a charmingly devilish smile illuminated his naturally tan face. "Whose present is she going to open first?" When no one volunteered, he laughed. "Come on, it won't be that bad." Apparently, they were all preparing themselves for Elizabeth's inevitable lackluster reaction. "Okay, how about this," he suggested, "we'll go from youngest to oldest in terms of who has known my baby sister the longest, so, with that in mind," he nudged his girlfriend teasingly, sitting down beside her on the arm of her chair, "face the gauntlet, Carly-babes."

Alexis scoffed as the interior designer handed over her present to the birthday girl. "I can't believe you allow him to call you that, let alone encourage him to."

"Oh come on, I'm sure there's a nickname hidden in your past, too," the blonde returned quickly, making the lawyer roll her eyes. "At least I'm not embarrassed by my past."

"My refusal to discuss my history or my alleged nicknames has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with decorum. This is neither the time nor the place to broach such subjects. It would be wise for you to learn some etiquette as well," the older woman suggested smugly, "seeing as how you currently have none."

"Let's retract the claws, ladies," Patrick interrupted their verbal sparing match. "After all, today's about Immy."

"You'd think that, since it is my birthday, my brother would somehow find a way to not annoy me," Elizabeth laughed at the idea, smirking at the neurosurgeon as she ripped open the wrapping paper. "But, still, he insists upon referring me with that dreadful reminder of my middle name." Lifting the lid from the box, she pulled out a delicate, obviously very expensive scarf and, in question, glanced up at the blonde across from her for an explanation.

"From what I've heard… not that I've ever been there myself," Carly enlightened everyone in the room, "scarves are popular with the women in Europe, so I felt it was only fitting that you wear one once a week when you go to your Italian lessons. The information is all there for you underneath the tissue paper."

Speechless, the younger woman asked in doubt, "you got me this?"

"Well, I picked your gift out, but your brother paid for it."

"I can't… this is… thank you, Carly," Elizabeth finally found her voice. "This is amazing." With tears of appreciation stinging her eyes, she observed the blonde across from her with a confused expression on her face. "How did you…"

"That question the Jackal believes he can answer," Spinelli spoke up for the first time, handing his gift to his friend as he continued. "A couple days ago, I had a visitor come into the store. Immediately, her presence set me on edge, so I was wary of her prying ways, but, after the Feisty-Femme-Fatale elucidated to the Jackal her most significant mission on behalf of your protective sibling, I relented and shared with her my knowledge of your deepest, most passionate dream of someday going to visit the land of Michelangelo, pizza, and, most importantly, condoms."

"Amen to that," Patrick interjected, making the group of five laugh.

"After the Feisty-Femme-Fatale informed the Jackal of her plans for your gift, he decided to return his previous present and get you something that would synchronize with your lessons in your chosen romantic language." At that moment, Elizabeth pulled out a boxed set of headphones. "They are top of the line and most sensitive on your petite ears. With a sound adjustment on the cord, they are also extremely unproblematic to operate, and they also come with a lifetime warranty, so, even after your classes are over and you speak Italian more gracefully and more naturally than even the natives, this will be a gift that keeps on giving."

As Elizabeth looked up, she found her friend beaming proudly in her direction, and she couldn't help but return his wide smile. "Thank you, Spinelli. As always," she praised him, "your genius knows no match."

"Well, to that," Alexis argued, "I beg to differ. While Mr. Spinelli's gift was insightful, mine will not only bring you joy but it will also, eventually, make us all extremely happy."

"That sounds promising," the birthday girl stated as she grasped the envelope that her lawyer friend held out in her direction. Since all she had to do was flip open the flap of the envelope, her third gift did not take long to open. "You got me a membership to the brownie of the month club?"

"I figured it made sense," the older woman justified. "I think we all know how much you love chocolate, and, this way, not only will you have a delicious batch of brownies waiting for you once a month on your doorstep when you come home from work, but you'll also be able to duplicate the recipes and make sure your good friend Alexis doesn't exist solely on popcorn."

Grinning brightly, Elizabeth reached across the space separating her and the attorney who was sitting in the couch next to her. Hugging the lighter brunette, she whispered in her ear, "thank you," unable to disguise the note of disbelief in her voice at the fact that, so far, she had actually liked all her gifts. With only Patrick's left to open, she sat back in her seat, once again, and found herself nervously twisting the small angel Jason had given her the day before. Although it was not meant to be a necklace, she had taken it to the jewelers and had them attach a small lope to the decorative ornament so she could wear it around her neck and always keep it close to her, and, despite knowing better, there was a fleeting thought in her mind that maybe her new friend had been right, that maybe, now that she had the remembrance token of his grandmother permanently with her, that the gracious, loving woman truly was watching out for her.

Interrupting her thoughts, Carly asked, "what is that," indicating that she was wondering about the very necklace Elizabeth herself was contemplating.

"It's nothing," the brunette hedged, unable to meet her brother's girlfriend's steady, questioning gaze. "It's just something a friend gave to me."

"What friend," Patrick inquired in surprise as he brought over his rather large gift for her to open. "Other than that kid who owns the gym you go to, I thought Alexis and Spinelli were your only friends?"

"This is a new friend… someone you don't know."

Despite the fact that she could feel the lawyer's frustrated gaze tearing into the side of her face, she refused to look at the older woman, knowing exactly the accusations that Alexis' brown eyes would be making towards her. Instead, she focused on opening her present, laughing out loud and forgetting the attorney's worries when she saw what was inside the box. "Ice skates, a saucer sled, and a snow board, Patrick?"

"We've always rented this stuff in the past, but I figured it was time that you owned them, so, now, whenever you feel the urge to go outside and get frostbite, at least it won't cost anything more than a few fingers."

"It's perfect," the birthday girl stated proudly. Standing up, she embraced her older brother, squeezing him tightly.

"Well," Carly screeched, breaking through their sibling moment and approaching her boyfriend. "What I don't understand is why you sent me on a wild goose chase to find a gift for your sister if you already had one picked out for her."

"I had my reasons," the doctor stated, steering his annoyed significant other towards the awaiting birthday cake as the two of them went to light the candles.

In that moment, everything else faded from the room, leaving Elizabeth in a cloud of glowing happiness. Between her picnic breakfast with Jason, his impromptu gift, and the wonderful things her friends and family had given her, her birthday had been the best one the young artist could ever remember having. Knowing she would have to change her pre-planned birthday wish, she glanced around the room and watched almost as an outsider peering in as Spinelli and Alexis bickered playfully over whose gift she had liked the most and as her brother and his girlfriend argued over his right to test her. She wasn't fooled by Carly's thoughtful present, nor did she think that the next year would bring her such wonderful gifts again. Instead, she was pretty sure that things would return to normal, and she would be left unwrapping awkward clothes and impersonal knickknacks, but, for that moment, she was determined to simply enjoy her life and the people she had in it, fully believing that nothing could be better than that exact moment… not even the ooey-gooey, triple layered, German chocolate dream of a birthday cake awaiting her consumption.

Hidden by the shadows the alleyway provided him with, Jason watched as Elizabeth returned home later that evening, laden down with the presents her friends and family had given her at the small get together he had known she was attending that evening. He watched her wave goodbye to the geeky bookstore owner who lived next door to her above his own shop, and he laughed at her struggles to heft all her gifts up the stairs that led to her second-story apartment, fighting himself and the urge he felt to go to her and help her. After everything that had happened the day before, he knew he couldn't do that. Things with Sonny and with his father were too precarious at the moment, and, despite what he wanted, he wouldn't risk Elizabeth getting hurt because of the life he was being forced to live. No, Jason swore to himself, as long as she was safe and happy, he would settle for being her friend in private… for now.

As she finally made it to her door, he couldn't fight the smile that tugged at his lips as he watched her shocked expression at seeing the thing he had left on her doorstep. Dropping everything in her arms, Elizabeth bent down to pick up the Dalmatian puppy, her laughter carrying gently in the fall wind as the still all white dog licked happily at her glowing face. Seeing that his present had been duly delivered, he moved to straddle his bike, waiting for the brunette, her new dog, and all her presents to get inside before he started the loud, chrome machine.

Fleeing down the alley as he left her and the dreams they would never be able to actualize together behind, he never noticed the car that had been sitting across the street from Elizabeth's store and apartment the whole time. He never noticed the car, he never noticed the man sitting behind the wheel, and he never noticed that, despite his best intentions, he had just surrendered the woman he had feelings for to the life his only goal was to keep her protected from.

A Happy Birthday, Elizabeth, indeed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Ten  
****FF#270: Time is on my side.**

There were many differences between being a doctor for the mob and working in a bustling, metropolitan hospital, and, although it had been many years since he was a respected member of the medical community, Alan Morgan was never quite able to forget those differences. Most of them, he had to admit with a wry laugh, were in favor of working in the organization. He didn't have to put up with inner-hospital politics, there was no horrendous cafeteria food, and his boss knew nothing about medicine, so he was rarely if ever questioned. But there were some things that he missed about General Hospital.

He missed the camaraderie he felt with his fellow doctors after they had worked together to save a patient on a particularly difficult case. He missed the variety of cases he had previously worked on. In the mob, he pretty much only saw one of three things: gun shot wounds, stab wounds, and broken bones caused by severe beatings. If he had not inserted himself into other several non-medical portions of the business years ago, he probably would have left from the sheer monotony of his job. But, most of all, he missed the nurses – the young, impressionable, easily wooed and attractive student nurses. After all, he was just a man, a man still young enough to have needs and desires, and those could simply not be met by going to work and fooling around in one of the supply closets. Instead, now, as a mob doctor, he had to work a little harder to find his female company, but, as he looked around his office that afternoon, he realized it was worth it.

His office was the entire first floor of the complimentary penthouse he received for working for Sonny. Built and designed to his exact instructions, it was a doctor's dream private office. With three, luxurious rooms to treat his patients in, all the latest and most expensive medical equipment, and a study that could easily rival and probably beat the chief's of General Hospital, he was a man seated in the very lap of opulence. If Alan said so himself, he felt that he was suited quite well to the comfort his employer's lifestyle provided him with, and his personal quarters, on the second floor of the penthouse, proved just that. He had it set up as an extravagant loft. Silk sheets, cashmere pillows, rich, mahogany wood – all in colors so dark, so imperial, they appeared to be of Mr. Corinthos' choosing.

It was in the center of this materialistic display of wealth that Alan sat as he waited for Max to arrive for their private meeting. The Italian guard had been watching Miss Webber for two days at that point, and his hands were practically itching for a report. He wanted to know exactly what his son's relationship was with the young woman. He wanted to know how they had met, how long they had been involved with each other, and, most importantly, just how he would be able to use her to keep Jason in line. It wasn't like his only child to slip up so badly and allow him a glance into his personal life. Jason kept himself and his emotions so guarded that Alan wasn't sure if the young man had ever had a personal relationship with a woman before. He didn't know who his son's friends were or what he did for fun. The only things he did know about Jason were the things he had been able to gleam from the tracking device he had bestowed him with, and, now that the angel was hanging so openly on the brunette's slim neck, he needed a new way to control his only offspring. He was hoping, with Max's help, to make Miss Webber his new way.

A sharp, quick, almost impatient knock at his front door alerted the medical professional of his guest's arrival. He could tell by the sound of the guard's knock that Max was nervous about their meeting. Knowing this, Alan schooled his face. He couldn't appear too eager or too desperate for information. Tricking Max into doing his dirty work for him was going to take a fine, flawless tap dance of words, innuendo, and just enough charisma and fake concern for both his young son and the even younger woman he was involved with. So, with that thought in mind, he kept his steps even and controlled, not rushing or dawdling on his way to answer the door, and, once he arrived at his entrance, he slid a perfectly smooth palm onto the handle, whisked the door open levelly, and made damn sure he had a friendly smile on his face to warm up his otherwise cool features.

"I'm glad you could make it, Max," he greeted the much larger man before him. "Please," he held the door open wider, "come in."

Always polite in his own way, the bodyguard tipped his head towards the physician and returned his easy grin. "Evening, Doc."

The two men moved silently into the apartment, both of them temporarily distracted by their own thoughts. Alan led them towards his study, taking his seat behind his grand, almost menacingly large antique desk and tipping himself back in his brown leather office chair as he observed the fidgeting twenty-something before him. It had always amazed the doctor how kind and almost sweet Max was in contrast with most of the other guards. For a boy raised in levels of near poverty, on and off the streets with no real role model or parental figure in sight, he was surprisingly well-mannered. Max's courteous nature, despite the fact that he had tried to steal from him, was the reason why Alan had brought him into the organization in the first place, and, even after being around rough, often rude men for many years now, the hefty Italian guard maintained his respectful nature. It was why he was currently in the doctor's office and not out running some menial chore, and it was also why Alan knew he had to walk a tight rope if he wanted to keep the security expert on his side and working for him in secret.

"First of all, Max," the mob doctor started smoothly, folding his hands before him. "I want to thank you for doing this for me. I know that you don't like to keep secrets, and I also know that you hate to be pitted between Sonny, Jason, and myself, but I was worried about my son. All of a sudden, there was this strange girl in my boy's life, and I had no idea who she was. If nothing else, it's my job as Jason's father to make sure that he's protected… even if it's from himself."

With those fatherly words spoken, Alan watched as the younger man across from him visibly relaxed, exhaling a harsh, pent up breath and grinning in relief. "It's good to hear you say that, Doc," Max admitted. "I wasn't quite sure why you had me watching Miss Webber, and, to be honest with you, I wasn't really comfortable with the assignment."

"Oh," he pretended to be concerned, furrowing his brow in worry. "Why's that?"

"You see, I actually know her," the bodyguard shared. Alan had not been expecting that piece of information, but he hid his astonishment easily enough from the burly man he was meeting with. "When you said you wanted me to watch someone named Elizabeth Webber, I didn't put the pieces together, because I know her as Liz. That's what everyone down at Milo's gym calls her."

"Aw, so she's friends with your younger brother?"

"Yeah," Max said, sounding proud of his kid sibling. "She was his very first customer actually. The stupid lug head was so excited when she walked into the door, he gave her a free year's membership. I told him that was no way to run a business, but he always tells me to leave the business alone, that he's the brains in our family and I'm just the brawn." The soft chuckle emitted by the guard told the older man that he found his brother's teasing to be amusing, so he simply sat back and allowed the bodyguard to ramble away, knowing he would reveal everything that he needed to know eventually.

"Anyway, so Liz and Milo are friends, and she also knows most of us guards. Not by name, of course," he reassured him, "but she'll wave hello when she sees us working out, and she's always got a smile ready for anyone who's nice to her. Not only does she run this little art supply store that she owns, but she also works the morning shifts down at _The No Name_, cleaning up the place and getting it ready for the dinner crowd everyday."

"She sounds like quite the enterprising young woman," Alan complimented her, knowing Max would like him to sound impressed. Besides, it wasn't like he was going to admit what he really thought – that Miss Elizabeth Webber seemed to be quite the busybody, insinuating herself into too many places in his son's life. Sure, he wanted to be able to use the brunette against his only child, but he didn't want Jason to actually go and develop feelings for the girl. That amount of a personal life would be very dangerous in his son's hands. Shaking his thoughts away, he refocused himself on the topic at hand, redirecting his conversation with the Italian so that he could find out more pertinent information. "So, is that how she knows Jason – through Milo and the gym?"

"You know, I'm not sure," Max stated indecisively. "It would make sense, but I've never seen them together there before, Milo's never mentioned anything, and, for that matter, Jason never has either."

"Well, you know my son. He's quite private."

The guard nodded his head in agreement, though the anxious scratching of his ear gave his uncertainty away. "I don't know." Shrugging his shoulder, he continued. "Jason normally goes down to the gym in the mornings, and Liz is always working then, so I really don't think that's how they met."

"Well, did you see them together at all while you were watching her?"

If Max had been edgy before, he became downright uncomfortable with Alan's last question. Finally, he hedged, "not exactly."

"That's cryptic," the physician laughed, attempting to ease the younger man's uncertainty.

"You see," the Italian clarified, never meeting his boss's unwavering gaze, "Jason was around some yesterday, but they never really saw each other. In fact, she didn't even know that he was there."

"Was he watching her as well? Did he see you following her?"

"I don't think so. If Jason would have seen me following Miss Webber, he would have said something about it, and he wasn't spying on her himself. I think he just wanted to make sure that got home from her party safely and that she got her present."

"He gave her something… a gift?"

"Yeah," Max answered with a wide, beaming smile. "Yesterday was her birthday, and Jason gave her a puppy."

Sighing and attempting to stem off his apprehension, the doctor rubbed at his temples before opening his eyes, once again, to find the guard across from him observing him carefully. "I'm going to just come right out and ask you something, okay, Max?"

"Sure, boss."

"Do you think that my son and Miss Webber are dating?"

"Well, I'm not sure," the hefty twenty-something stated without conviction. Changing his tone rapidly, he winked at the older man, "but, if he was, I'd say that he's one lucky guy. From everything that Milo has told me, I know that she's a really nice girl, Doctor Morgan. She would be good for Jason, and I think he'd be good for her. If you want me to," he offered generously, "I could ask around the other guys, see if they know anything, check with my brother, and there's this lawyer friend of hers that sometimes hangs out at the gym and watches us guards box. She seems kind of… strange but nice in her own way. She might know something."

"Thank you, Max." Standing, Alan offered his hand to the younger man, declining his offer. He wanted information on the Webber woman not gossip. "But that won't be necessary. I'm sure that Jason will come to me with any news when he's ready to, and I'm sorry if asking you to do this for me made you feel uncomfortable at all. Just know that I really appreciated that you helped me without asking any questions. Your loyalty and dedication to your job will not be forgotten, son."

The bodyguard grinned lopsidedly, blushing at the praise his boss had bestowed upon him, and, in that moment, the mob doctor knew that the very reason that Max had risen in the ranks so highly with the Corinthos organization was the very same reason he would not be able to use him to further his agenda and get more information. The Italian, in his own way, was too much of a gentleman to ever use Jason's feelings for a young woman against him or to hurt someone who was an innocent in their world.

Instead, he was going to have to find someone else to do his dirty work for him, someone who was still loyal to the organization but who had no qualms of conscious for the physician to deal with. He needed someone who would take orders without question, who wouldn't care about the father's reasons for attempting to control his son, and someone who could themselves be easily controlled. With that thought in mind, he showed Max to the door and thanked him once again for his help, albeit useless help, but the young guard didn't need to know that, before turning back into himself and his mind, thinking, searching, and scheming up a new and ultimately better plan, plan that wouldn't fail, for, in the end, too much was riding on its success, and Alan wasn't ready to give up on everything he had worked so long and hard for.

While the old Doctor Alan might have accepted defeat and moved on to the next patient, that was just one more apparent difference between his old, hospital employed self and his new, mob influenced persona. He had to admit, despite its flaws, the new one was the better one. Alan Morgan knew how to get things done himself; Alan Quartermaine simply allowed others to get things done for him. That's why Alan Quartermaine was a fool, but no one could or would say that about Alan Morgan.

No, he certainly was nobody's fool - not some young girl's, not his son's, and not even his own.


	11. Chapter 11

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Eleven  
****FF#271: A passport, a half empty bottle of perfume, black and white photo**

He considered himself a pretty smart man. Educated on the streets instead of in the classroom, he might not be able to tell you what _The Grapes of Wrath _was about, but he could show you how to count cards, how to steal anything from an apple to an amethyst, and, to round things off, he was pretty handy with a wide variety of weapons, too. The most important thing in his life was protecting his own skin and that of those close to him, a very limited few, but they were important nonetheless.

There were two people in the world he cared about – his son and his sister, one because of memories, because of promises he had made long ago but still held important, and one because of loyalty and fondness. His son was his living prodigy. Someday, when he had finally kicked the bucket or been kicked off of it, his son would continue on his legacy. His stories would live through his only child, and he was proud to admit that he knew his kid was capable of making it into some of his own impressive yarns. Then there was his baby sister. While his son was his future, his only sibling was his past. She was the one who kept him grounded in a level or two above reality. Always reminding him where they came from and how they got to where they were, she kept him on his toes, helping him make sure he never took anything for granted. It was just the three of them now, and, even though they often went months without seeing each other, he wouldn't want it any other way.

Pouring himself a glass of scotch as he walked into his office, he collapsed onto his worn out old desk chair, inhaling the welcoming stench of stale cigars and cheap booze. It was that smell that told his weary body he was home. He sighed, kicked off his boots, and reclined back, closing his eyes as he took a large gulp of the burning liquid and smirked softly as he felt the alcohol scorch a blazing trail down his parched throat. It was good to be back.

After nothing but beer in Ireland, wine in Greece, and vodka in Russia, there was nothing like coming back to the good ol' U.S. of A. and downing himself a glass… or ten… of hard-hitting, toe-curling scotch. It was his drink of choice, and he reminded himself, not for the first time, to make sure the next time he was forced to go out of town, to take a few bottles along and sneak them past customs, a simple task for a man who habitually fooled the government and snuck into Cuba every six months for his like clockwork shipments of authentic Cuban cigars. While his passport might say Sweden or Monte Carlo, those who knew the old schemer knew that he never went anywhere that didn't have some fierce action… of the illegal kind. He was like a moth to the flame when it came to trouble. If it could burn him, if it could skin him alive and leave him for dead, then he was a man who wanted in on that action, and, more often than not, he got his way.

And that's why he was at home. Things were starting to become a little unsettled, and an old business associate, a friend almost if he was ever loyal to anyone but himself, his only kid, or his baby sister, was in a fix, and said almost friend needed his delicate touch to get the results he so very much desired. So, here he was, back in Port Charles for the first time in months, hiding out in his rarely used office, drinking fine liquor, and smoking cigars until the phone would ring, signaling his presence was needed in a meeting.

Oh, how he loved the life on the fringes of the mob.

Sonny Corinthos was not a very sentimental man. He lived, he loved, he lost, and he moved on. The pattern started when he was child, and he continued it to this day, but there were some things even he couldn't forget. Never a night went by when he didn't wake up in a cold sweat, his nightmares of the past haunting him. Sometimes it was the flashes of memories from when his step-father would beat his mother senseless while he was locked in a closet unable to help her but still very much aware of what was happening. Other times it was the quick flicker of a car bomb going off. Though he couldn't see it, he knew what that flare of fire hid behind its flames – his burning, already dead pregnant wife. And, then, sometimes when he dreamed, he woke up with visions of his own death littering his over active imagination. Be it by the hands of his enemies, a faceless traitor in his organization, or through his own self-destructive actions, his death was never painless and always bloody.

It was a fear he lived with constantly – the knowledge of his own mortality, and he knew that was the reason why he was pushing Jason so hard to take over the business. While the kid might not like what he was going to become one way or another, he was good at it, and it helped calm Sonny down sometimes to know that, whenever he did finally get the chance to retire, his empire would be excellent, capable hands, but, before he could leave Port Charles behind, before he could finally exorcize his demons and put his memories to rest by getting out of the life once and for all and moving to his private, tropical island, he had to make sure that Jason was trained properly, and that was proving more difficult than previously expected.

So, he had called in backup – an old ally that not even the doc knew about. The man was good, he was discreet, and, if you had the cash, he was loyal. Despite what it meant, the mob boss preferred the kind of loyalty he could buy. After all, not too many people had more money or assets than he did, and, if a man's loyalty could be purchased, than he was selfish enough to put his own welfare first and wouldn't go off growing a conscious. In his business, a conscious was deadly, especially to the men in charge, but he didn't have to worry about that with his old associate and sometimes friend. The man was self-seeking to a fault. It was one of the many things they had in common.

The only problem was that his presence brought back his wife's death full force. He couldn't think of the older man without seeing his wife and child dying before his very eyes all over again. His dreams when the old crook was back in town became sharper, more detailed, and sometimes he would even start to imagine gorier details. He would hear non-existent screams in his mind, the unborn child who had been growing in his spouse's stomach would cry and whimper, and he would see their charred and unrecognizable bodies before him despite the fact that no one had been recovered from the scorched car.

So, that was why he drank and stayed awake. There was no way he would allow himself the false pleasure of falling asleep. When he shut his eyes, the visions only got worse. Instead, he tortured himself with conscious memories. He wandered around the bedroom he had shared with Lily, observing her things as they still remained from the last night she had been alive, picking them up, touching them, inhaling the still faint traces of her scent on their bedding and her favorite silk robe. After her death, he had locked up the bedroom he had shared with his wife, allowing no one inside of it and never packing away her things, moving himself into a spare room. He had needed the constant reminders that she had once been there, that he had once been so close to having it all – love, power, money, notoriety, and family – but that it had slipped through his careless fingers. Through confidence, he had become lazy, lax with security measures, and his wife and unborn child had paid the ultimate price for his carelessness, but, looking back, he realized it had been a necessary evil, a lesson he had needed to learn.

In his business, emotional attachments were simply impossible. Not only did they cloud a man's judgment, but they were also distractions one couldn't have. They left a person vulnerable to attack, weak, and viewed as incompetent, and, if nothing else, Sonny Corinthos was none of those things. He buried Lily, said goodbye to the idea of having his own family, and never once thought again about falling in love or having a child. With a steeled heart and cold eyes, he had approached the world, approached his life as if everything was a business deal, and, in a way, he had been right.

But, every so often, when certain things like an old friend coming back into town triggered his memories, he had to stop. He became lost in the past, unable to move forward again until the sun rose and helped banish his lingering doubts and guilty conscience to the far off shadows of his mind. And that's where he was that lonely night – locked up in the old master bedroom of his penthouse, collapsed in the chair his dead wife used to sit on when she put on her shoes before going out on the town with him at her side, drinking straight from a bottle of scotch, and staring, unblinkingly, at her half empty bottle of perfume that remained on his wife's dresser. It was the only part of her he had left that felt as if it had any life still in it.

Time was running out.

Alexis was having a good day. The night before had been uninhibited by dreams, leaving her free to sleep without having to remember the horrors of her childhood. That morning, she had won a case, that afternoon brought her a new, respected, and extremely wealthy client, and, to celebrate, that evening, Elizabeth was coming over to see her with a surprise, and they were going to order in dinner together. It was the type of day that made her smile, the type of day that made her wonder why everyday couldn't be as perfect, the type of day that…

… was ruined by the smell of wet dog?

There, standing before her with a squirmy, all white puppy in her arms, was her best friend, smiling from ear to ear. Never before had the lawyer seen her best friend, her only friend, look so happy, so content, but it still did not make her want to remain in the dog's presence. She hated animals – living ones, dead ones, even stuffed toy ones, and Elizabeth knew that.

"Please, don't tell me that's dinner… or my surprise"

"Nope," the young brunette across from her grinned even wider… if that was possible. "This is not dinner, and she's not your surprise. She's mine; she's Enigma, Iggy for short."

Mumbling and rolling her green eyes, she teased, "what, is that the latest trendy name in Hollywood these days? Did Enigma replace Banana and Snickerdoodle?"

"Not quite, but it does have a certain ring to it, don't you think?"

"Well, if nothing else, it's unique, so unique, in fact, that even I'm intrigued, so, please," Alexis requested, sitting down on her couch and crossing her legs demurely, "enlighten me."

"When I got home from my birthday party, she was just waiting for me on my doorstep. At first, I thought she was missing, because she already had a collar on. So, I called around, checked the local papers, but there was nothing out there about a missing Dalmatian puppy."

"How tragic," the attorney quipped, smirking, "for you."

Elizabeth simply ignored her and pressed on with her explanation. "So, then I took her to the vet to see if they could trace her. They have these new chips that are implanted in dogs, and, that way, if they ever become lost, it's easier to return them to their owners. Get this though," the artist prefaced her next statement, her youthful face alight with wonder and a slight spark of curiosity, "she was registered to me. Someone bought me a puppy for my birthday, but I have no idea who. That's why I named her Enigma, because she's a puzzle."

"Sweet, adorable, it has the makings of a two-box tissue minimum Hallmark movie. Now please," the older woman begged, "put the mutt outside. You know that I'm allergic to uncivilized creatures."

"Iggy isn't uncivilized. She's a very well behaved puppy," her best friend countered, playfully glaring in her direction. "Besides, you say the same thing about men."

"Aren't all dogs and men one in the same?"

While the blue eyed brunette giggled at her rather serious question, Alexis watched her as she moved back to the front door, opened it, and brought in with her a travel puppy kennel. Although she had meant what she said, apparently, Elizabeth didn't quite agree with her or think that the lawyer believed in her own sentiment.

"Some men are nice, and the same thing goes for dogs, too,and, one of these days, I'm going to prove it to you."

"But how," she mocked, watching the younger woman closely for a reaction. "By setting me up with a criminal, too?"

"You would only be so lucky, but we're not going to talk about Jason tonight."

"Oh, so you're not going to argue with that me about his immoral activities then," the legal eagle tested her friend. "And you're not going to deny that you have feelings for him?"

"Would it matter if I did," Elizabeth returned pointedly. "You've already made up your mind about him… and me, and, if nothing else, you're a very stubborn woman."

"Thank you."

Disregarding her, the art supply store owner continued, "so I'm just going to save my breath and let Jason prove to you himself through his actions that he really is a good guy. Someday, Alexis, you're going to have to eat crow pie, and I'm going to be right there getting the whole thing on film for posterity's sake."

Smiling wickedly, the older brunette remarked cattily, "thankfully, not in this lifetime."

But, still, the painter paid her no mind. "No, instead, tonight, I want to tell you all about Iggy. I've been working with her this week, trying to teach her some new tricks, and…"

"And it starts," Alexis finished the statement for her younger friend. "You're already acting like this _thing _is your child. The next thing I know, you're going to be sending me black and white glamour shots of your _dog _at Christmas time."

"Only for you, Aunt Lexi," Elizabeth retorted with a perfectly straight face as she moved towards the drawer with all the take out menus in it. "Only for you."


	12. Chapter 12

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twelve  
****FF#272: The last in line.**

Jason felt like a voyeur, and it was not a good feeling.

In the past, when he had kept an eye on Elizabeth's life, he had excused his actions as being over-protective of a young girl who had once captured his attention, but, now that he was in her life, now that they were trying to be friends, he knew that having guards on her was an invasion of her privacy, and he hated doing that to someone he cared about. However, that did not mean that he was pulling the guards off her or cancelling Francis' orders. The security measures his best friend put in place would remain, and he would deal with his guilty conscious by simply telling himself what he was doing was for the best. It was pointless to think about what the brunette's reaction would be if she ever, someday found about the decisions he had made about her life for her, because, as far as he was concerned, Elizabeth never needed to learn the truth. As long as she remained safe and his men did their job properly, she would never be the wiser, and their connection would never be in jeopardy.

It was amusing… and slightly alarming… to realize just how easily his mind could excuse his behavior. Basically, his conscious had become his enabler.

However, despite the fact that Elizabeth was protected around the clock, he had decided to keep as much of her life a secret as possible. Francis and his chosen men could watch out for her, make sure no harm came to her, but, when it came time for the head guard to report back to him, he would only request the minimal amount of details. Basically, all Jason needed to know was that she was safe and happy, and, if there were any apparent threats surrounding her, the security team, of course, were to immediately consult him. So far, there had not been any emergencies, but, with his first meeting with his only trusted confidant quickly approaching, the blonde haired man felt somewhat nervous. In fact, he was actually fidgeting.

Back and forth, up and down the pier he paced. Unlike he had been trained at a young age, he was not watching his surroundings. If someone wanted to sneak up on him, at that point, he was welcome to the confrontation. After bottling up all his frustration towards his father and Sonny, he could use a good emotional outlet, and kicking the ass of some foolish street punk would very easily fit the bill. But no one approached him. Quite to the contrary, it felt as if all people traversing the alleys that afternoon were purposely avoiding him, turning around when they saw the frustrated mob successor and finding a different path to their intended destinations. It was probably just as well though, because, if he got into a fight, he'd inevitably be arrested, and then he'd have to put up with not only the cops and lockup but also another lecture from his father.

"You need to get out of town," Francis broke through Jason's thoughts, ceasing his constant movement. "When was the last time you actually went for a ride?"

"Last week."

Shrugging, the older man sat down on the lone bench offering a place to rest on the docks and waited for his friend to join him. "What the hell's stopping you," he finally asked after Jason joined him.

"Things have changed," he hedged, not really wanting to get into the details of his fights and subsequent compromises with the two men who were, at that point, practically controlling his entire existence but, at the same time, needed to confide in someone. "I've been instructed to remain in town indefinitely until further notice. There are some meetings coming up, and Sonny wants me there with him, but, before I can go, he still has a long list of things I need to do first."

"So the strings have been permanently affixed?"

"Something like that," he admitted. Slouching down in his seat, the younger man sighed, rubbed his jaw line, and stared out at the very waterfront that made his life so complicated.

Francis was quiet for several minutes, but, finally, he commented in a soft voice. "So I imagine your connection to Miss Webber is even more important to you now. She's your only link to the outside world." He didn't say a word, but his stillness was the only response his best friend needed for confirmation. "She's doing well, you know. It was her birthday last week, and she seems really happy. Someone mysteriously dropped off a puppy for her. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"It was me."

"As I suspected," the bodyguard chuckled. "I have to admit, though, that I was surprised you were using one of the boss' unmarked cars."

Now that made Jason sit up straight. "What are you talking about?"

"The day of her party, Johnny called in and reported a non-descript sedan belonging to us sitting outside her apartment all afternoon. He was pretty worried until he saw her come home, find the dog, and then go inside, because, as soon as she disappeared in doors, the car left, and none of her guards have seen it since."

"It wasn't me," Jason stated, standing up and moving towards the edge of the water to stare almost blindly at the ever-shifting river. "I was on my bike that day. You know I hate cars, Francis."

"Yeah, I know, but who else would have been watching her?"

"Someone who's realized that she's important to me," the younger man snapped, glaring at his friend. "How did this happen?"

"Wait a minute," the guard quickly stopped his wandering mind. "Do not jump to conclusions. We don't know anything. She lives in a commercial part of town. One of our guys could have been there watching a thousand different people besides Miss Webber, and the fact that Johnny, Marco, and I haven't seen anyone else around pretty much proves that no one is on to your connection to her. Just keep doing what you're doing – meet with her in private whenever you can, and we'll keep doing what we're going. We'll keep her safe, Jason. You have my word."

"I want cameras put up around her apartment and store so that every angle of her building is watched 24-7. Keep a man on her at all times," he instructed, "and have someone always watching the security footage."

"Alright, I'll set it up," Francis assured him. "But where should we place the camera feeds? It can't be in any of the warehouses, because they're not private enough. Anyone could walk into the room and discover that we're having her watched."

The blonde contemplated the question for several moments before replying, "put them in my penthouse. Sonny and my father won't question men coming and going from my place, especially since you're basically only using older guards that I'm friends with. In fact, it might fool them into thinking that I'm stepping up and working harder than I am to learn the business. Plus, this way, I'll be able to help out as well. When I'm home, I can keep an eye on the footage, too."

"Sounds good," his best friend agreed, pulling his coat in tighter around his shorter frame to brace himself against the cold, blustering wind coming off the waterfront. "I have to go. My shift watching Miss Webber starts in half an hour. Are you going to be alright though?" Pausing for a moment, he cleared his throat before explaining his inquiry. "You just seem… kind of lonely, Jason. If you want, I could all up Marco, ask him to stay a little longer on Miss Webber, and you and I can go get a drink or two over at Jake's and play some pool?"

"Maybe another time, but thanks. You guys are already putting in double time by helping me out. Marco needs to rest sometime. I think I'll just stay down here for a while."

"You're insane," the older man laughed, ribbing his friend. "It's freezing out here."

Jason simply shrugged. "But it's open," he responded simply. "I can breathe when I'm outside."

"Alright, fine, but do me a favor," Francis requested of him. "Go get yourself a cup of coffee. It'll help keep you warm."

"Do you recommend any place around here?"

Meeting his eye, the security expert smirked, his eyes alight with mischief. "Oh, I've heard _Kelly's _is a pretty nice place. The ambiance is friendly, and they attract a pretty fascinating clientele, especially around this time of day. You know, shops are closed, businesses shut down for the night. Many people stop by the place for a quick bite to eat before heading home or even sometimes just a cup of hot chocolate. You should check it out… like right now."

Immediately, Jason knew exactly what his best friend was trying to tell him, and he was grateful. With a quick wave, he left the older man chuckling slightly to himself as he bounded up the steps of the docks and took off in the direction where he knew he'd find the local eatery, Sure enough, two minutes later when he arrived at the diner, she was there, standing in line patiently while reading through some paperwork.

Dressed brightly – yet warmly to combat the harsh, late fall chill of the November air, Elizabeth looked adorable. Her hair was up in a high, playful ponytail, her face was infused with a burst of color, the whipping wind slightly chapping her exposed cheeks and turning them a delicious shade of pink, and her eyes were sparkling with excitement. Whatever she had planned for that evening, it was obvious to Jason that she was looking forward to it. Stepping into the diner, he joined her at the end of the line, thankful that Francis had been right and that the establishment was quite busy that late afternoon. It would give them a chance to talk for a few minutes while they both waited to be served at the counter.

"Don't look around," he whispered in her ear as he bent down slightly to speak with her, "and pretend you don't know me." Raising his voice, he acted as if he was attempting to start up a conversation with a stranger. "So, I hope you don't mind me asking, but this is my first time here. What do you recommend?"

"Oh, their hot chocolate is amazing," the brunette played along with his little trick, "but, for some reason, you don't remind me of a cocoa kind of guy."

"You're quite observant."

She shrugged her shoulders in a self-effacing manner. "I work with the public. But, back to your question," she redirected their conversation. "Although I don't drink it myself, I've heard that _Kelly's _has good coffee as well. They get their beans from a local company."

He knew that already, but he didn't tell her any such thing. After all, despite not going to the restaurant, he knew that Sonny's business supplied the local diner with their coffee. "Maybe I'll have to try it, and then, afterwards, if we ever meet again here, I can tell you what I thought of it."

"Sounds like a plan."

He smiled discreetly at her and then nodded his head towards the papers in her mitten encased hands. "Taking work home with you?"

"Oh this," she asked, glancing down shyly at what she was holding. "No, actually, this is the introductory information I received in the mail about the Italian lessons my brother's girlfriend enrolled me for my birthday this year. My first class is tonight."

"Italy is beautiful, and its language is as well."

Eagerly, she turned towards him and grasped his arm, almost forgetting that they were pretending to be strangers. "You've been there?"

"A few times," Jason answered, enjoying her obvious enthusiasm towards his reply. "It's amazing, but, since you're taking Italian lessons, you probably already know that. However, there is one thing I can tell you that no tourist or travel book will ever admit to."

"And what's that?"

"That the light in Italy is different than anywhere else in the world."

She sighed contently, almost dreamily. "It sounds wonderful. No matter what I have to do, I will someday go there."

He surreptitiously winked at her. "I'm sure you will. Anyway," he switched topics again, refocusing their attention upon a more casual subject. "It's obvious that you had a good birthday. You know, I have this friend who really hates her birthday. In fact, I just saw her last week, and she was pretty much dreading it. You sort of remind me of her."

"That's odd," Elizabeth remarked, appearing thoughtful, "because, to be honest with you, most of the time, I dread my birthday, too. What happened with this friend of yours? Did she enjoy her birthday this year?"

"I think she did. She had a party with her friends and family, and, later, when she got home, there was a surprise present waiting for her." He almost laughed out loud at how wide the brunette's eyes became at his little, disguised admission. "Someone secretly gave her a puppy for her birthday."

"A Dalmatian puppy?"

That time Jason did laugh. The next time they met, he'd have to tease her about not being able to act as if she didn't already know him. "Maybe."

It was obvious that she was about to thank him, that she was stretching up on her tiptoes to wrap her slender little arms around his neck in a tight hug, but, just as she started to lift her shoulders, the line ahead of them moved, and the waitress at the counter interrupted their moment, asking for Elizabeth's order. Despite the fact that he had wanted to appear to the outside eye as if they were strangers who just so happened to be having a friendly conversation while they waited in line, he would have happily thrown caution to the wind for the chance to hold her in him arms… even if just for a few seconds. But, just as quickly as the opportunity arose, it disappeared, and, before he knew it, Elizabeth was saying goodbye, her hot chocolate in hand as she made her way out of the diner. The last thing he saw of her as she rounded the corner of the entryway was a colorful, very European silk scarf fluttering in the breeze, and he smiled to himself as he turned back to the counter to order his coffee – black, to go.


	13. Chapter 13

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Thirteen  
****FF#273 Just try to stay alive.**

Curiosity killed the cat.

Everyone knew that. In fact, it was his older brother who had informed him of it when he was just a young child, but Milo never really followed the sage advice. After all, who could voluntarily stop inquisitiveness? It was an natural trait in man to question the things around him. That's how he grew, that's how he progressed, and that's how he matured. So, when Max sauntered in, flashed around his money, and oh so conveniently slid his suit jacket open so his always holstered pistol was visible, it was no wonder that his few late night customers ran so fast one would have thought their gym shorts were on fire, and, when he then proceeded to question his younger brother on Elizabeth Webber, it was no wonder that Milo's curiosity was immediately peaked.

Why would his brother be interested in Elizabeth? Did he like her, because, if so, he would do whatever he could to make sure that relationship never happened. Although he loved his only sibling, it was one thing for them to be close, for they were related by blood. That was an unshakable bond. But Elizabeth was an innocent, and Milo felt she should remain that way. He didn't want her snagged into the lifestyle his older brother led, put in danger, and, one day, hurt because of the mob or even worse. Could she have somehow crossed one of Max's bosses? Surely, the petite brunette wasn't on the short list for those about to find themselves on the killing room floor. Elizabeth never hurt anyone. She minded her own business, she ran her store, and she spent time with her few close friends and older brother. With these thoughts in mind, he had returned his brother's question, instead of answering the bodyguard's inquiry, demanding to be told just why Max had taken such an interest in his friend.

Of course, he had been met with opposition. The mob and their stupid code of silence could really tweak a guy's nose if he let it, but, rather than get angry, effectively making it so that he would see no results, Milo had gotten creative. If there was one thing his kid brother couldn't handle turning down, it was a challenge, especially one that was accompanied with a bet.

So, they had turned off the lights except for the one that hung directly over the boxing ring, stripped down to their underwear and socks, a decidedly strange appearance for two grown, adult men, but, for the brothers who often skirmished to settle their differences, it was quite a common sight, and cut the music to leave the empty gym in complete silence. It was just them, their skills in the ring, and the years of history they shared between them, and only one Giambetti was going to come out on top.

"You do realize this is foolish, Milo," his older brother had taunted as they stepped into the ring and went directly to their corners to prepare. "In all the years we've been fighting, you've yet to win a single battle."

"Things change."

Max scoffed. "Yeah, but not that much, baby brother. If nothing else, tonight, I'm going to make sure you learn one very important lesson. It doesn't matter how much you bluster or how far you puff your chest out, I'm still older than you, and I'll always be bigger than you..."

"Yeah, because the only muscles you exercise regularly in that blob of a body of yours are your jaw muscles."

The guard ignored the interruption and the laughter that followed it and pressed on. "... which means that I'll always be able to kick your skinny ass."

"Those are some big words for such a chubby man."

His older sibling was immediately defensive, and Milo had to hold back his smile, because he loved goading him. "I'm not chubby!"

"Well, why don't you put your money where your mouth is... that is if you have enough cash to fill that empty hole in your face."

"I'd watch it if I were you, because it's my money that allowed you to get a loan for this place. You might not want to piss off your co-signer too much there, baby brother," his only living family member warned him.

"Alright, fine, no money," the gym owner agreed. "But how about this - if I win, you have to tell me why you want information on Elizabeth Webber so badly, and you can't hold anything back, and, if you win, I have to answer all your questions."

"Honestly and without complaint?"

"Of course," Milo pretended to be offended. "Would I ever lie to you?"

"Would the Knicks ever _not _lose?"

"Good point," the younger brother agreed, grinning. Advancing towards the center of the ring, he held his hand out, spit in it, and waited for Max to shake on their bet. The bigger man returned the gesture without a second thought. Just as their hands separated, Milo raised his free hand, already clenched into a fist, and nailed his only sibling with a sharp right hook to the left side of his face. The blow immediately caused swelling, and it was obvious that the bodyguard would have a pretty impressive shiner the next morning.

"What the hell was that?"

"Bare knuckles, bitch," he replied smugly, already readying for his next punch and landing the upper cut straight in one his brother's kidneys. "Boy, you have gotten soft, and I'm not just talking about your waistline. Just because you carry a gun, _Maxine_, that doesn't mean you're all tough and strong."

"Oh, that's it," his older sibling threatened, infuriated.

With that, Max charged, but Milo quickly and easily avoided his advance. Punch after punch ensued, some of them ducked and avoided, some of them landed precisely where the boxer intended. There were shoves involved, even some kicks, but, in just a few minutes, the fight was over, and it was Milo left standing, holding a hand out to help his brother stand back up. Side by side, the two Giambetti men made their way outside of the ring and proceeded to collapse.

"Alright, I guess this means I'll be seeing you tomorrow for a workout. This - you actually beating me - can never happen again. I'll make sure of it."

"Dream on, big brother," the gym owner teased, a smug smirk lighting up his boyish face. "And, now, about that little wager that we made, it's time for you to pay the piper."

And he did. Max told him everything he wanted to know, but, in the end, after they compared notes, the two brothers only ended up even more confused. Their impressions of Elizabeth and their knowledge of her interaction with Jason Morgan were quite opposite, and neither know which version to believe. By the time they finished and Max went home to get a few hours of sleep before his early morning shift guarding Mr. Corinthos, they had agreed to both keep their eyes peeled and alert. The most important thing was keeping Elizabeth safe, no matter what. While his brother might be extremely loyal to the men he worked for, his first and foremost loyalty belonged to his baby brother, and, if Milo felt that Elizabeth needed protected, if Milo wanted her to remain safe from _the life_, then the bodyguard would do everything within his power to see that she remained untouched.

Going back to his nightly tasks, the things that kept him awake as he worked the late shift at the gym, Milo returned to wiping down all the equipment, his hands occupied with the rote task while his mind contemplated everything that had gone down that night. Really, he hadn't learned anything. At that point, it was all speculation. However, one thing he had always known had been reinforced.

While curiosity might kill the cat, he didn't really give a shit. There was a reason why the son of a bitch was given nine lives, and, if nothing else, Milo was going to make sure he made the most out of all nine of them - curious or not.

He loved keeping his business associates and rivals on their toes. If they didn't know what to expect from you, then you could always remain one step ahead of them, and that one step was often the difference between being worm food and getting to live to see and enjoy your next meal. So, that's why Luke Spencer held all his meetings as late at night as possible. In a business where most men lived by the motto of early to bed, early to rise, he was the exception, and damn if he didn't love being unique. And his little quirk worked, too.

Sitting across from Doctor Alan Morgan, personal physician and right hand man to Sonny Corinthos, the greying con artist could see the lines of annoyance and slight discomfort marring the older man's face. It made him want to snicker, but he refrained, saving the humor for a later hour and a nice, neat glass of scotch that would be waiting for him when he got back to his office. Instead, he smiled graciously and pulled out a cigar, lighting it before asking, "you don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not."

"I'd offer you one, but, then again, a man can't go around giving away authentic Cuban cigars. They're too precious to simply hand out."

"I wouldn't accept one anyway," the uptight doctor sitting across from him stated. "They're bad for your health."

That time, Luke didn't hold back his amusement. "And I'm supposed to take it that working in the mafia isn't?"

"Mr. Spencer," Alan replied instead, ignoring the question, "I asked to meet with you for a specific reason."

"I bet you did."

"A reason that can go no further than this room," the dark haired man pressed on, disregarding the interruption. "I have a matter of a delicate nature that needs seen to, something that I cannot, regrettably, take care of myself, but I think we might be able to help each other."

Taking several puffs off his Cuban before exhaling and quirking a thoughtful brow in the older man's direction, the drifter asked, "aren't all matters in this business of a delicate nature?"

"Touche, Mr. Spencer."

"So, I guess the question is just how delicate this certain arrangement is."

"Well, seeing as how we're meeting in private and that I don't want anyone else to know about this, that should be your first clue," Alan remarked, his irritation at the circles their discussion was moving in apparent.

"And just why don't you want your son or Mr. Corinthos to be aware of our little business on the side?"

"Mr. Spencer," the physician prefaced, folding his hands in a calm, stately manner before him on the desk. "May I be forthright with you?"

With eyes twinkling, the younger man joked, "I've never been one to turn down a blunt... statement."

"There are some things in life that a man must take care of for himself. This situation is such a thing. I need someone under my employ that is only loyal to me, someone who will do anything I tell them to, no matter who reprehensible the order or questionable the motives. I need someone who has no scruples, who can fit into the outside world without detection, someone who would not be recognized in this town. If and only if revealing this person to Mr. Corinthos becomes advantageous to me, then I will tell him about our little deal, but, if not, then your secrecy is not only appreciated but demanded."

"I see," Luke drawled, his curiosity and intrigue immediately sparked. However, he did not reveal as much in his facial features, actions, or words. "And does it matter whether this person is of the male or female persuasion?"

"I couldn't care less."

"Good, good," the greying man commented, pausing to both think and draw again on his simmering cigar. "I'll see what I can do. There might be a contact or two of mine that would work out well for you."

"And, if you come through for me," Alan negotiated, "then, as soon as the person is delivered to Port Charles and in my employ, you will receive a very generously filled envelope, both for your services and your discretion."

Grinning, Luke held out a hand, agreeing immediately to the terms of their deal by shaking on it. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Doc. I should be in contact with you by the end of the week, hopefully even before out little shindig this weekend at _The No Name_." When Alan stood to walk him to the door, he stopped him, gesturing off the sign of respect. "Stay where you are. I can see myself out."

He waited until he was safely in the confines of the elevator before he pulled out his cell phone and dialed one of the only two numbers he had memorized. There were no preprogrammed numbers in his phone. That was too risky when you were constantly running and hiding from enemies on all six of the livable continents. When the person picked up on the other line, a self-satisfied smile broke out on the aging man's face.

"Pack a bag, Cowboy," he ordered his son, the anticipation and glee evident in his voice. "It's time you got back in the saddle."

Oh, yeah, it was good to be back in Port Charles.


	14. Chapter 14

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Fourteen  
FF#274: Down came the rain.**

Down the path, she approached, totally oblivious to his presence. Seeing her was a surprise even for him. Compared to their previous_accidental_meetings, this one truly had been by chance. Knowing he had the day from hell awaiting him, Jason had opted to skip out on his usual morning activities, and, instead, was simply being, existing with no pressure or expectations. Sitting on a bench in the park, the only things surroundings him peace and solitude, he relaxed, savoring the first time in days he had managed to be by himself. But having Elizabeth join him was not an interruption; it was, instead, the icing on the proverbial cake.

She was walking her dog... or, more accurately, the dog was walking her. Having caught a scent, probably just a mixture of smells combining other dogs who frequented the jogging paths at the park, their owners, and any other wild animals who managed to find a quiet moment at night to come out of hiding, Iggy was on a mission, and her owner was merely along for the ride. But it didn't appear as if Elizabeth minded. Happily strolling along, she allowed her pet to determine their pace and simply kept up with the puppy, obliging the Dalmatian's willful nature.

However, despite the slightly comical picture the pair made, Jason couldn't really care less. Yes, he was glad that she liked the gift he had given her, and, yes, he was pleased that Iggy seemed to be an intelligent animal for that gave him hope that she would be aware and on guard when around her owner, but, in that moment, away from the rest of the world and the unyielding pressures it put upon them, he was just looking forward to seeing the brunette, to sitting with her in the park, to perhaps even talking to her if she had the time to stop for a few minutes. After all, not even Sonny could fault him for having a simple, polite conversation with a beautiful young woman who just so happened to choose the bench across from him to take a break on. All he had to do was to get her attention so she wouldn't breeze by him, her attention lost in thought and in the task of detaining her dog from dragging them all the way to the Canadian border.

Using his tactic from before at the diner, Jason spoke up, pretending to start a conversation with a random stranger. "I'm surprised to see anyone out walking today," he commented, glancing up at the sky in accompaniment with the bland, impersonal statement. "It's supposed to start raining any minute now."

"And November rains are always the most forlorn," the store owner added, offering him a wan, knowing smile. Petting her puppy for several moments in silence, she finally unhooked the leash and allowed the animal to run free, laughing out loud when the spotted creature ran straight for the bushes, her tail and ears alert with attack, causing all the birds which had been previously resting in the area to take flight in a loud barrage of shrill cries and alarmed songs.

"So, why are you... out walking? Trying to catch your death of cold?"

"At least I have an excuse," Elizabeth teased him, nodding towards Iggy before taking a seat across from him on a second bench just as he had wanted her to. "Why are you here?"

"I needed some fresh air, no matter how cold it might be, before tonight."

"Aw," she joked, laughing. "Hot date?" As soon as the words left her mouth, he noticed the joy flee, and the moment of weakness, of telling emotion, both caught Jason off guard and delighted him.

"Actually, no," the dirty blonde finally answered her, crossing his arms over his chest in contemplation. It wasn't as if he didn't trust her, because the truth was he did, but he had been taught since childhood that the business was to be kept a secret from all innocents at all times, especially from women. Finally deciding that, although he wouldn't lie to her, he also wouldn't give away details, the heir to the Port Charles mafia shared, "there's this meeting tonight, a pretty formal one. I have to dress up, be on my best behavior, and, generally, make nice with a bunch of men I can't stand and respect even less."

"Sounds like my childhood in a nutshell."

"While the claustrophobia might be similar, I doubt the circumstances are the same." Sighing, he smirked, effectively changing the subject. "I don't want to talk about it though. Talking won't change anything, and, from the sound of your tone, the only thing it might do is dredge up some bad memories for you that you'd rather keep buried. Back to you though. In all seriousness," he eyed her sternly. "Couldn't the dog's walk wait until tomorrow? You obviously don't have an umbrella, and I doubt you're dressed warm enough to be caught in a storm."

"I'll be fine, _Dad_," Elizabeth proclaimed, nodding her head in amusement at his evident protective streak. "As for the walk, no, for your information, it couldn't wait. I have plans tonight - dinner and rerun classic tv episodes with a friend of mine, and, no matter what, Iggy always gets a walk everyday. Usually, I take her out after work, but, with the storm approaching and my plans, I figured I'd take advantage of my mid-morning break from the store and we'd get a quick walk in while the weather was still holding out. Besides, you're in nothing but jeans and a tight t-shit." She blushed, glancing away from his suddenly dancing silver tinged blue eyes. "Not that I've noticed or anything, but..."

"The cold doesn't bother me that much. I'm not sure why," the young man responded, shrugging his shoulders. "I've just always been like this. I don't really feel extremes, but it comes in handy. I have my jacket, though," he assured her, "just in case you're worried about me."

"I'm not worried."

"It's with my bike," Jason continued as if she hadn't of spoken, realizing that she was simply offering him an automatic response. "And, unlike you, I am prepared for the rain. There's an umbrella in my saddlebag."

Immediately, she started giggling. "I can't imagine _you_ carrying an umbrella. Please, complete this visual for me, and tell me that it's either bright yellow or has some cartoon character on it."

"It's black."

She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't have guessed.

"And, for your information, I've never actually used it before." Concentrating on her countenance, he fixed her with a pointed stare. "It's there more in case I ever stumble upon someone else who needs it... you know, maybe a friend who's walking alone through the park with her dog when a rain storm is supposed to start at any minute."

"You're not going to let me leave here without that umbrella in my hands, are you," the painter asked, already standing up and gesturing for him to lead the way towards her bike. As soon as she got up, her dog ran to her side, the birds and rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks she had been chasing quickly forgotten. He joined her, walking slightly too close to her for the excuse of them being nothing but friendly strangers to be believable but not caring, but the silence they were existing under quickly evaporated with the shrill outburst of her cell phone ringing. "Excuse me," Elizabeth offered, digging rapidly through her shoulder tote for the offending device. Glancing at the caller ID before switching the mobile off, she paused, furrowed her brow, and then apologized. "I'm sorry, but I have to take this."

"Alright, stay here," the future organized crime leader directed her. "Take your call while I go and get the umbrella for you." Before stepping away, he turned and patted Iggy on the head, giving the puppy instructions, too. "Make sure she doesn't run off on me, okay girl?"

His only response was a quick, sharp bark from the Dalmatian, but it made him grin anyway as he took off at a brisk pace, quickly eating up the distance between where he had been standing with the young brunette and her dog and where he had parked his motorcycle. Grabbing the much discussed umbrella, he headed back towards his friend just in time to see her drop her phone back into her purse, an irritated frown marring her otherwise soft features.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, it's nothing important," she replied, waving his concerns off. "Someone just called off at _The No Name_, and guess who was called to see if she could cover the shift. Yep, that's right - yours truly. Ugh," the store owner groaned, stomping her foot in an adorably immature gesture of frustration. "Why is it that I have this inability to say no when someone asks a favor of me?"

"Because you're a nice person," Jason responded easily, making her blush for the second time that morning and liking his ability to do so. "I didn't think that you worked at night there anymore though?"

"Normally, I don't, but I always told the owners that, if they ever needed me, I'd be there, and, now, I'm choking on my own words. Anyway, I should be going. Duty calls," she informed him, pointing off with a distracted wave towards where her art supply shop was located. "So, when will I see you again?"

"I'm not sure," the dirty blonde admitted. "Things are kind of crazy for me right now. A lot of stuff is changing."

"Oh, I see."

"Soon though," he promised her.

And, with that, he slipped away, disappeared into the twisting turns of the park, and left her standing her with a wide smile on her face. Although he had work to do, although he had commitments and responsibilities, meetings, and an unmarked gun tucked into the back of his jeans, there was a matching grin on his lips as well.

"... came here at my Dad's request. He thought that you might need my assistance." Jason listened outside the door as a man he didn't know, a man younger than he was, smiled and preened, complimented and danced his way through his first meeting with Sonny Corinthos. Wanting more information and needing to know just how this newcomer would affect his own existence, he continued to eavesdrop outside the cracked penthouse door. Where Max was, he didn't know, and, even though it was a breech in security, he definitely wasn't going to waste an opportunity to get one step ahead of his mentor in the game they were currently playing, a game that, in the end, could very well cost him his life. "He thought you might need another good man at your side, someone who was loyal only to you."

He had to bite back a humorless smirk at the dark haired man's last comment, finding himself employing one of Elizabeth's gestures and rolling his eyes. It was obvious that the guy Sonny was talking to was giving the don a bucket full of lies, and, if he knew Sonny at all, the older man was eating them up with a spoon. Plus, the new recruit had also, apparently, seen one too many military advertisements, but, although his flowery lines of commitment were laughable, even cliche, that didn't mean that the younger man wasn't dangerous. In fact, he simply might have been confident enough to know he could get away with such blatant flattery, and that much pride and self-assuredness could prove fatal for either the person who had such a large ego or for those who went after him.

Finally the mafia boss spoke. "I've known your father for years, so it would be an honor to have you join our organization."

"Should I show him around, boss," Max offered, startling Jason. The stranger must have been the son of someone important if his presence took precedence under security procedures. The bodyguards only left their posts outside Sonny's door to attend a meeting inside when the person who had requested the meeting was worthy of their respect, and his mentor didn't find too many men worthy of such a rare gesture of good will in their business. "I could sort of take him under my wing, introduce him to all the guys."

"Thank you, Max," the don said graciously, "but that won't be necessary. I think that I'll personally see to welcoming Mr. Spencer into our world. In fact, I think he should come to the meeting tonight as my guest. How does that sound?"

"I'd be honored, Mr. Corinthos."

Jason wanted to scoff at the amount of self-congratulations occurring just a few feet away from him inside the penthouse walls, but, instead, he tried to place the name of their newest ally. He knew of a Luke Spencer, a wily, underhanded, con artist who jumped sides more often and at a much faster rate than even Benedick Arnold. The man went where the money was, where the power was the most readily available. He was like a shark circling in the tank, and the fact that Sonny was now welcoming both the elder and the younger Spencer into their organization made him take pause with worry. Either his employer was desperate, overly confident, or just plain stupid, and, as far as the Spencers went, they either wanted in on some large plan Sonny had going or they could smell blood in the Port Charles harbor. Things were suddenly just that much more dangerous, and he was thankful that he and Elizabeth were still just mere acquaintances as far as the rest of the world was concerned.

"Wonderful," Sonny's slapping of the dark haired man on the back drew the future heir's attention back towards the penthouse. "Well, why don't you go back to where you're staying and get ready for this evening. We'll all be meeting her at seven, and, from here, we'll be heading straight to _The No Name _for a little dinner followed by a meeting."

"Pick another place," Jason demanded, throwing the door open and making his presence known to the three men assembled inside the plush living quarters of his mentor's home. "I don't want to go to _The No Name _tonight."

"Jason Morgan," Sonny started the introductions. "This is Lucky Spencer. He'll be joining us tonight and in everything we do for the foreseeable future. Actually, I was thinking that the two of you might work closely together, that you'd make a good team."

"I work alone."

Snapping, the head of the organization stated, "you work however, wherever, and with whomever I want you to, and, as far as dinner tonight, we always go to _The No Name_. Just because you're in the mood to make demands, that does not mean that I'm in the mood to relent to your every whim. Now, get of here. I was in the middle of a private meeting, one that doesn't concern you."

"Everything in this business concerns me." As he made the announcement, the dirty blonde haired man felt assured by the cool handgun pressed into his lower back.

"Not yet," Sonny practically taunted him. "And not this." Without another word, the door to the penthouse was slammed in his face and locked.

The rain came down all around him as the first time visitor to Port Charles stepped off the train. Quickly gathering his things, he made his way towards the awaiting depot and then the outside world of a town overrun with organized crime and opportunities to make a name for oneself. He had always been a big city man before, preferring to perform his business and offer his services to those in charge in New York, L.A., and Miami, but there was something about Port Charles that attracted the elite of the underground. Whether it was the prime location to both Canada and the Midwest through the St. Lawrence Seaway and the great lakes and to the ocean with the Hudson river and its connections to the Hudson Bay to the north and New York City to the south or the sheer amount of strength it took to maintain control of the riverside hamlet, whatever the reason for its importance, he was about to make his own impression upon the backwater village, and, before things were said and done, everyone would know who Ric Lansing was. Everyone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Fifteen  
FF# Get ready to root for the bad guy.**

Sonny Corinthos loved business meetings.

But he was a rarity. Most men he worked with hated to put on their finest suits and their equally fine airs, parading about in public with all their associates to see which peacock in the barnyard could strut and preen the best. But not him. He lived for the chance to show off. As boss, he was in control, so that meant he got to pick the restaurant, the wine, even the items on the agenda up for discussion. And the best thing about a business meeting was the chance to see your friends and your enemies sweat under pressure. There was nothing like a public display of loyalty to make a man nervous, and, if nothing else, he was good at reading people.

Gathered at _The No Name_, he was surrounded with all the top men in his own organization and those in charge of the five families, all of which bowed to him as the main man in charge. It was a heady position, a power trip, and, often, he had to restrain himself from taking advantage of his rank. He found it amusing to watch tightly wound men tapdance their way around a delicate issue, and it was even more enjoyable to watch them barrel their way through trouble, panicking and throwing caution to the wind because their patience and restraint had been snapped, often at his hands, and they had no more use for the polite or the subtle.

It was then that he could really pounce, that he saw his adversaries' weaknesses and went in for the kill, capitalizing on the flaws of his opponents. That was his favorite part of the business, taking advantage of those less skillful, less intelligent than he was, and, even though his career had been fruitful and long given the usual time restraints of the mafia, he had yet to meet anyone that had been able to get the best of him. True, there had been close calls and even moments where he had doubted his ability to pull ahead in the race, but, no matter what, he always succeeded, and, at that point, he expected that he always would. It was because of his invincibility that he enjoyed meetings so much, for there was no better situation for a man of power to crush, obliterate, and embarrass his rivals.

However, sometimes the life he chose demanded more tact and less strength than he wished to display. If he needed to persuade those who worked underneath him to do something, nonsense flattery and bullshit praise went much further than sheer domination ever could. Apparently, the old adage about honey and flies applied to the mob as well. That particular meeting he was about to hold that evening would prove to be the case, but he still had some strong arming to look forward to.

With his future heir at his side for the evening, both of them attending their first official meeting together, he knew that he needed to take Jason's recent displays of independence and curtail them as quickly as possible. If he didn't, it would be a less than agreeable future for the both of them, and he definitely preferred the easy road versus the one with all the twists, turns, and potholes. His only deterrence from putting the younger man in his place was something to ward over his head. He needed something to control Jason with.

Sonny wasn't a fool. Despite the fact that his organization's physician had not shared all of his own secrets with him, the don knew that the doctor had his own way of controlling the rebellious blonde, but he would let him be. As long as Alan didn't forget his place, as long as he remembered that he was not in command of their business, he would allow him to have his secrets... just as he already did and would continue to have his own.

After all, there were the private, offshore bank accounts that no one knew about besides himself and his trusted, very timid accountant who feared the very shadow of the man he worked for, the various women over the years that he had been involved with under his second in command's nose, and, most recently, the fact that he had brought on Lucky Spencer to their organization, waiting to use the young man to his own personal advantage and not to the benefit of the business. And, in that same vein, he would find something to hold over Jason's head, keeping it secret just as the doc did with his own source of control. If nothing else, fielding the pressure and dancing to keep both his boss and his father happy would surely keep Sonny's future heir in line.

Sitting back in his chair, he sipped his glass of wine silently, calmly, contentedly. As each new arrival approached their table and took their seats, the don would nod his head but remain still and quiet. There was no reason to tip his cards too early, so he remained subdued, observing and taking mental notes as to the various mental and emotional states of all his dinner _guests_.

His own men arrived first - as they were told to. They took their respective seats, knowing before hand exactly where they were supposed to sit and why they were sitting there. On one side of him, Sonny had Jason, signifying to everyone in attendance that night that the young man was both the future of their organization and at his personal beck and call, and, on the other side of him, he had Lucky, there to remind Jason that his position might not be as stable as he believed. Though the boss had no doubt that his heir would like to escape from the life he was raised to take the reigns of, they both knew there was no such thing as escaping now that he was fully entrenched into the underground, but that didn't mean that he had to be in charge when Sonny finally retired. Although he would never leave his organization, his sole life's work to that of an upstart con artist like the Spencer boy, no one else needed to be aware of that fact, especially not Jason.

Then, scattered around the table, sat all his top guards, separating the various heads of the five families from their own respective men. They were there to remind everyone who was in power and to keep the order. Though they all liked to pretend that they were civilized, respected members of society, each and every person there knew they were one misstep away from a lifetime of nothing but prison blues, so there was always the chance a meeting could become less than hospitable.

Finally, at the opposite end of the table, filling the less important but nevertheless significant second head position, reclined Alan, always a silent but still very powerful participant. Scattered about the room, Sonny had other, less favored guards patrolling, and, seated at the bar, smoking a cigar and nursing a fine tumbler full of scotch, sat Luke Spencer, an unofficial participant to the evening's festivities. But that's where the drifter preferred to be - on the outside, looking in. He claimed the position afforded one a better view and more favorable service from the waiting staff, and who was Sonny to argue with having another ally at his back... literally.

So, at last, when the final arrival, a wayward enforcer for one of the heads of the five families, took his seat, the Corinthos Organization's don signaled with just the wave of his right pinkie, his black onyx and gold ring flashing dangerously in the dimly lit room, for the staff to bring out his already selected meal for the evening. Like all meetings, he chose the menu, he chose the wine, and he dictated that all courses of the meal be served at once. It reminded him of a big family dinner like the ones he had growing up as a child, and, even though it was all hot air and talk, those of the underworld liked to consider themselves a family. It was his way of honoring the archaic and outdated idea.

The meal passed quickly. With an extended table filled with over two dozen men, it didn't take long for the food to be devoured, and, once it was, the real festivities began - the part of the evening he had been looking forward to finally commenced. So, with a second flourish of his right pinkie, the dirty dishes were carried away, the brandy and cigars were brought out, and, although not a literal glow, the spotlight was cast upon his smiling and deceptively jovial countenance.

"Gentleman," he greeted his guests, the dimples that were never discussed but very well known on full display. "Thank you for joining me tonight." As he had made clear during the very first meeting he held years ago, no one spoke, no one even blinked unless he gave them permission to, and, after testing their obedience, he continued, the glee he received from holding such power filling him with an invisible yet highly intoxicating natural high.

"Things around here are about to change," Sonny warned them all, watching the color drain from every single person's face, even those who worked for him. Only four people showed no signs of reaction - Alan, for he already knew what the meeting was about, Jason, because, much to his chagrin, the younger man had appeared distracted all evening, Lucky, because, Sonny feared, unless it was an immediate concern against the Spencer boy's life, he paid little attention, and Luke who was simply too busy flirting with the waitresses to pay any attention to anything serious.

"During the past few months, I've been working secretly to acquire some new territory. Though business here is as good as always, it's important to never settle, to never become content or happy with what one already has. Over the years, as you all know already, I've expanded my territory from just a piece of Port Charles to the whole eastern seaboard from Miami to Boston. I have power in the Caribbean, contacts in all the major European cities, and, just recently, we've started to form alliances with various organizations in Asia. However, before I can conquer the world, I need to finish conquering my own country."

Although a needling dropping to the carpeted floors could be heard in the restaurant over the silence surrounding the powerful men, Sonny could feel the tension seeping from his business associates. They already bowed down to him because he was the obvious source of power on their side of the continent, but the knowledge that he was only going to become even more powerful was something to be both revered and scared of. If only they knew...

"In two weeks time, we will be initiating a hostile takeover of Buffalo, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, and Milwaukee. Now, obviously, at this time, I don't have the manpower to control all this new territory on my own. That is where you, gentlemen, come in.

"Because your territories here are already established, I have a deal to offer you. In exchange for your current trade routes and properties, I am willing to give each of you a portion of my new territory. Each of you will take responsibility for one of the five new cities I'm acquiring. You'll run it how you see fit, you'll control what goes on as you see fit, and you'll man it as you see fit. The only influence I will have on your new territories will be when it comes to protection and profit sharing. As we do now, I'll get the same cut of your profits when you move into your new cities, and, just as we do now, I'll always be here to offer my support and protection if ever a complication arises. Are there any..."

"However," Jason interrupted, making Sonny pause, freeze, and then stare at the younger man. No one had ever had the gall or the stupidity to interrupt him during a meeting, no one had ever had the audacity to contradict anything he had ever said during a meeting, and no one had ever been so willful that they blindly disobeyed the rules he had established years before Jason was even thinking about attending a meeting.

"The same rules that you are governed by today will still apply in your new territories. This organization has always had a no tolerance rule when it comes to three areas of commerce, and this will not change simply because you will be operating your businesses further away from home."

Sonny sat back, both livid and slightly curious as to what the point of his future heir's outward sign of mutiny was all about. He watched as the blonde stared down each of the five family heads, piercing them with a look that held both the strength of his conviction and a promise of retribution if his word was questioned or challenged, and, while he admired the younger man's ability to lead and was thankful for it, he did not appreciate it causing an interruption to _his_meeting.

But, then, Jason's eyes skittered away from the table for just a second. For just a second, they locked with the gaze of a pretty brunette waitress with big blue eyes that could save a man with one look and a body that could damn him again with just a single touch, and the don knew the real reason for his protege's sudden streak of courage. The girl meant something to him, meant a lot if the looks they were exchanging were any indication of their connection, and, suddenly, the mafia boss was anything but angry with his heir. In fact, he was tickled pink by the blonde's interruption, for it gave him the very thing he was looking to accomplish during that meeting - a chance to control the younger man. And it certainly wouldn't be a hardship either, finding a way to use the pretty little waitress to his advantage.

Hiding his amusement and his pride at always managing to win the war even if he lost a battle or two, Sonny refocused his attention upon Jason just in time to hear him say, "there will be no drugs run in your new territories, there will be absolutely no dealings with illegal weapons or military contraband, and, most importantly, we will not tolerate any business that has to do with human trafficking or prostitution."

"You heard him, gentleman," the Corinthos Organization's don spoke up, clapping his younger counterpart on the back several times in an outward display of approval. "I stand by everything Mr. Morgan just said. In fact, it was my idea that he remind you this evening what your rules are." Although he had had no such idea, no one else needed to know that he was shirking on his moral duties. "Now, if there's nothing else, this meeting is adjourned. Please feel free to stay here tonight as long as you like. Drinks, as always, are on me."

Finally given the clearance to talk, the various men about the room immediately erupted in discussion upon the news shared that evening, but Sonny could care less what his associates thought of his decisions. Instead, he was focused on something of a different matter, something that could very well allow him to mix a little business with a whole hell of a lot of pleasure.

"Sweetheart," he called out, smiling and winking towards the very waitress Jason, too, was watching. "Come here," he ordered, waving her over. As soon as she was within touching distance, he wrapped an arm around her lithe waist, pulled her down into his lap, and held her tightly against him, showing her and everyone else in the room just how much he had appreciated her attentive services that evening. "Now, what's your name, beautiful?"

He had to bite back a bark of laughter when the brunette simply gaped at him, her orbs of sapphire quickly filling with tears frustration, anger, and embarrassment. As her attention bounced back and forth from his demanding face and Jason's irate one, Sonny continued, "what do you say you and I go into the back to get to know one another a little better. I always like to tip my waitresses well, and you certainly earned the best I have to offer tonight."

Before he could continue and before she could offer a protest or an excuse, the don felt a painful jab in his back, a jab that could only come from the barrel of a gun. "If you don't release her in three seconds," Jason warned him, digging the weapon even deeper into his boss' spine, "then I'll shatter you in two with one fucking shot. And don't forget," he pressed with what Sonny could only describe as an evil snicker, "I'm now carrying around an unmarked gun, an unmarked gun that you gave me. There's no one who could catch me if I ran after killing your disrespectful ass."

Releasing the young woman, Sonny watched as she lunged away from him, immediately disappearing into the ladies restroom. Slowly, the gun was withdrawn from his back, but both he and Jason knew that they had just crossed a bridge that neither could return from. The lines were drawn, Jason was in the business as deep as Sonny was, and the crime boss had gotten just what he wanted from his protege - he was back in control, and Jason was merely his puppet.


	16. Chapter 16

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Sixteen  
FF#276: The definition of insanity.**

"So," Elizabeth stopped walking, nodding towards the building they were standing in front of. It was the first time either one of them had spoken since they left _The No Name_. "This is me."

"I know."

"How..." Her voice trailed off as she rolled her eyes. "Never mind. I don't think I really want to know the answer to that question."

"Yeah," the man beside her agreed, smiling awkwardly. "That's probably a good idea. So..."

"Well, thanks for walking me home. You didn't have to..."

"After what happened tonight, Miss Webber," Max interrupted her, expelling a harsh breath before continuing. "Elizabeth... can I call you that?"

"I guess."

"Alright, thanks," the burly guard agreed, cursing himself and his blushing cheeks. Why he was embarrassed or nervous in that moment, he didn't really know, but beautiful women had a way of completely flustering him without even trying to. "Anyway, after what happened, someone needed to make sure you got home alright. Mr. Corinthos shouldn't have done to you what he did, and Jason..."

"It's no one's fault but Mr. Corinthos' what he did to me, and, yes," the brunette admitted, sighing, "it bothered me, but it wasn't necessary for you to walk me home. I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself. Besides, Mr. Giambetti, we hardly know each other."

"Yeah, but you're friends with my brother, Milo," Max argued, feeling as if he was making a good point. "And he would have been really pissed at me if I didn't do something to help you out tonight." Before she could respond, he added, "and, please, it's Max."

Elizabeth nodded her head in acquiesce. "Okay then. Just this once, I'll accept your chivalry, but don't get used to it. I'm not some damsel in distress who needs a big, strong man to save her."

Mumbling under his breath, the bodyguard disagreed, "if you keep hanging out with Jason, you will."

"Excuse me, Max, what was that?"

"It was nothing," he quickly attempted to cover.

"Oh, but I think it was something." Folding her arms over her chest in what could only be described as a challenging gesture, the young artist demanded, "either tell me what you said, or I'll get Milo to rough you up a little for some answers."

"Like my kid brother could get the best of me," the security expert scoffed. However, one pointed, raised brow on Elizabeth's part had him changing his tune quickly as he shuffled his feet and admitted, "I was just saying to myself that your association with Jason might leave you needed a white knight... or twenty."

"But Jason and I are just friends."

"Yeah," Max joked, rolling his eyes. "And I'm a ballerina." He could see that the petite woman was about to wage a battle of words with him, so, before she could get started, he held up his hands in an effort to both stall and pacify her. "Look, I know this is none of my business, but, even though we don't know each other well, I don't want to see you get hurt. Milo has lost enough people in his life that he cares about; he doesn't need to lose you, too."

"No one is going to lose me. I'm as fine as frog hair, as healthy as a horse, as spry as a young chicken."

"Yeah, now you are," the guard agreed with her solemnly, "but keep hanging out with Jason, and you'll end up as flat as that frog who was run over on the street, as broken as the horse who was sent to the glue factory, and they'll be serving some spry, previously confident, young chicken to the guests at your wake. Listen, just, I get it," he continued, struggling with finding a way to get through to the stubborn brunette. "Jason's got that whole bad boy vibe going for him. He's attractive..."

"So, that's what this is really all about," Elizabeth teased, interrupting him. "You want Jason all to yourself."

He just ignored her. "And he's a good listener, and, when you're with him, when he opens up to you, you feel like you're the only person in the whole world who can really see him, who can really understand the misunderstood persona he presents to everyone else."

"You know, Max, you're really in touch with your feminine side, do you know that?"

The bodyguard could hear her making flip remarks, trying to lighten the levity of the moment, but he wouldn't allow her to deter him from warning her. "But underneath all that charm and all that attraction, lies a very dangerous man, Elizabeth. Sure, Jason doesn't want you to get hurt, but, inevitably, caring for him will hurt you. There's no avoiding it."

Taking several steps towards the stairs that would lead to her second story apartment, the shop owner stated, "I appreciate your concern, but it's unfounded. Jason and I, we... we talk sometimes. If we run into each other around town, we're friendly, but that's it. We're not dating each other, and, hell, we're barely friends, more like acquaintances. You're sweet to be so concerned about me, but you and Milo have nothing to worry about. I'm perfectly safe."

With her last, unfounded, announcement, Elizabeth turned around and ran up to her front door, effectively ending their conversation. Apparently, Max realized, there was no reasoning with her, but there was also several things about her current situation that the pretty brunette had no idea of, things that were being purposely withheld from her. There was no way that Jason would pull a gun on Sonny if his feeling for the artist didn't run deeper than mutual respect and companionable conversation. Something was up, and, before it got out of hand, he was going to make sure that it progressed no further. But he wasn't going to accomplish that by talking to Elizabeth. Instead, he was going to have to go straight to the source of the problem... no matter what the consequences may be.

Jason was tired.

It was something he rarely experienced, but, after a night of emotional turmoil, of seeing Elizabeth manhandled and treated like a common whore by the lying hypocrite of a man who had always preached nothing but respect for woman, all he wanted to do was fall into bed and forget everything that had happened that day. He knew that pulling the gun on Sonny had been a monumental error in judgment, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? He acted instinctively. He saw the woman he had feeling for in danger, hurting and afraid, and he did the only thing he could think of that would immediately get her out of the situation, consequences be damned.

But, now, he had to think about the consequences. He had to figure out a way to minimize the damage he had done, to convince Sonny and the rest of the men in the organization that she meant nothing to him and that he would have done that for any innocent woman being terrorized unfairly. Plus, he had to apologize to Elizabeth, too. He had hoped that by just remaining her friend, he would be able to save her from the danger, from the humiliation, from the unjustified violence his life brought to everyone it touched, but he had failed. Despite his best intentions, she had been hurt anyway, and he would never forgive himself for it, and he certainly wouldn't forgive or forget what Sonny did either.

Sighing, he collapsed onto the lone piece of furniture in his living room, savoring the momentary comfort the leather couch provided him with. As soon as his weary form relaxed, he knew he would never make it upstairs to his bedroom, but it was probably better that way anyway. Wanting to be alone, he had dismissed the men who were watching the security footage on Elizabeth's apartment that night, leaving him responsible for keeping her safe until the morning. Despite being tired, despite wanting the respite only sleep could truly offer, he would have to stay away until the next shift of men would arrive.

"I don't care what he said," a loud, booming voice exploded out in the hallway, the angry tone the man was using prickling Jason's senses and making him come fully awake. He recognized the voice as Max's. "I need to see him, and I need to see him now."

Standing up, the blonde heir to the Corinthos empire quickly made his way across the room, realizing he needed to see the guard even though he wanted peace and quiet that evening so as not to alert either Sonny or his father to any other secrets he wanted to keep hidden. Plus, he considered Max a friend, so the fact that the usually stoic and emotionally restrained man was so upset made him pause and wonder what had gone wrong. He knew that the security expert had walked Elizabeth home that evening, so he, immediately, started fearing the worst.

"Whether that bastard wants to be disturbed or not, he's going to..."

Interrupting the burly man's ultimatum, Jason snapped the door open, leaning against the jam as he casually asked, "and what can this bastard do for you, Max?" There was no sense in showing his cards too early. The night watchman had no idea about what had gone down at _The No Name_, he didn't know who Elizabeth was, and, because of those two things, he certainly didn't know the connection both of his superiors had with the young woman.

Without warning and without comment, the bodyguard caught his boss unaware, barreling his way through the entrance and fisting Jason by the shirt as he drove him backwards into the wall by the stairs, kicking the door shut on his way into the penthouse. "What the hell do you think you're doing with her? Are you trying to get her killed?"

"Max," the blonde warned, checking his temper only by remembering the fact that he did actually like the man physically assaulting him at the moment. "I'm going to give you to the count of three to let go of me, and, if you don't, you're not going to be able to hold me accountable for my actions.

"One..."

The heftier man pinning his stronger form to the wall didn't budge. Instead, as if in preparation for what was to come, he gritted his teeth and stoned his expression.

"Two..."

Still, there was nothing, no giving in, no letting go, no concession or surrender."

"Come on, Max," Jason tried to talk him down. "You really don't want to do this."

The only response he received was a hard right hook to the jaw.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he swore, clenching his face as the guard before him finally let him go. "What the hell was that for?"

"That's for messing with Elizabeth."

"Keep your voice down," the future mob boss ordered, glaring at his younger friend. "Don't you think that I already did enough damage tonight? We certainly don't need you adding to the pile of shit I'm currently in now, do we?"

That apparently caught the brunette off guard. He backed up, furrowed his brow, and simply asked, "what?"

"Look," Jason explained. "First of all, Elizabeth and I are just friends."

"That's what she said, too."

Although he took note of the fact that Max had, apparently, interrogated the young artist as well, he didn't comment upon it. "That's because it's the truth. And, before you go accusing me of anything else," Jason warded his friend off, "I haven't tried anything either, and I'm doing everything I can think of to keep her safe. See," he nodded towards the surveillance equipment littering his desk. "Tonight was just a fluke, something none of us could have seen coming. Elizabeth normally doesn't work in the evening at _The No Name_, but someone called off, so she agreed to work the shift to help the owners out. It was a mere coincidence that it just so happened to be the night where Sonny was holding a meeting there."

"Coincidence or not," the bodyguard argued, "he, along with the all the heads of the five families, their muscle, and the guys in our organization, now know that she means something to you."

"I realize that, and I'm going to do everything I can to either convince them otherwise or to make them forget about what they think they know."

"Or," Max suggested, "you could do the stand up thing and simply stop seeing her, cut her out of your life."

Expelling a harsh breath, the blonde fell onto the couch, signaling for his friend to do the same. "I've tried to stay away from her."

"What do you mean?"

"I met Elizabeth years ago," Jason clarified, losing himself in the memories. "She was just eighteen, and I had just gotten back from traveling abroad when we ran into each at _The No Name_. She was working at the bar, and I wanted a drink, but, instead of just giving it to me, she requested that I show her I.D. I was impressed. No one before her and no one since her has ever tried to deny me anything or even challenged what I had to say. So, I hassled her back, making her prove to me that she was even legal to be serving me alcohol. I liked her, even back then, but I forced myself to forget about her, to stay out of her life, but, no matter what I told myself, I still made sure she was okay. Then, a few months ago, she moved out of her brother's place and into her own apartment above the shop she owns, and that was it. My restraint seemed to snap, so I orchestrated a meeting between us, and, since then, we've oh so conveniently managed to run into each other several times."

"So you like her... as more than just a friend," the guard realized, whistling at the complicated mess his boss had gotten himself into, "but you don't want to see her hurt, so you're holding back and just trying to be her friend while still doing everything within your power to keep her safe. Did I leave anything out?"

"Just the fact that all of this subterfuge is about to drive me crazy." Standing up to pace, the heir to the underworld empire started talking rapidly. "I don't want any of this, Max, not the bulletproof penthouses, the cars, the money, the wealth, the power, the territory. All I want is a normal, relatively danger-free life with maybe a chance at being with Elizabeth. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Not the way I see it," the brunette admitted, contemplating what his boss had to say. "So, I guess the question becomes, what are you going to do about it?"

"Excuse me?"

The security expert laughed at the stunned expression on Jason's countenance when he turned around, shocked, to face him. "What are you going to do to get out, and how are you going to make sure that Elizabeth is still there, safe and sound and waiting for you, when it's all over, when you're finally free?"

"I haven't figure that out yet," the blonde admitted with a tired sigh. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Man," Max joked, nodding his head in denial. "I'm just thankful at the end of every day when I get to go home without a bullet hole in my back. I have no fucking clue what to tell you. Although," he realized, brightening slightly as he stood to approach his friend. "I do know something you need to be aware of."

"Why do I not like the sound of that," the older man questioned rhetorically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Continuing, the bodyguard confessed, "you have more than just Sonny to worry about. Your father knows something's up, too. A couple of weeks ago," he explained, "he sent me out to watch Elizabeth. At the time, I just had a name and not a face to go with it, so I didn't realize that she was Milo's friend Elizabeth, but he sent me to watch her because he said she had something of yours that he wanted you to get back. I have no idea what he was talking about, Jason, but, he at least knows that the two of you are connected. I'm off the job, and I told him to just talk to you about Elizabeth himself if he was wondering about your relationship with her, but I'm guessing that he hasn't said anything, so who knows what his next move will be."

"And knowing my father," Jason finished for him, "it won't be good."

"Probably not."

"I'll see what I can find out, and, if you hear anything..."

"Oh, of course," the guard assured him. "I'll come straight to you."

"Good and thanks, Max."

"Anytime." Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, the brunette looked around the rather sparse penthouse. "So, do you want some help tonight? You look beat, man. Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep, and I'll stay here and watch the cameras for you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, why the hell not," Max offered. "After all, it's the least I could do after hitting you."

"About that," the heir to their empire taunted, "you do realize that I'm going to have to pay you back for that eventually, right?"

The younger man chuckled, playfully smacking his friend on his back as he went up the wooden stairs. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Morgan."

Settling into the leather desk chair once he was alone, the burly bodyguard prepared for a long night of doing nothing, but it was worth it if it meant keeping an innocent safe, an innocent who was friends with his baby brother. If nothing else, at least he learned that night where his true loyalties remained in the organization - they were with Jason, once again, no matter what the consequences were.


	17. Chapter 17

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Seventeen  
FF#277: And the award goes to...**

Alexis sat and stared... and then stared some more.

Elizabeth had always been a healthy eater, well, at least for as long as she had personally known her, but the younger brunette's enthusiasm that morning as she attacked her french toast was a bit startling. The attorney wasn't even sure her friend was pausing long enough between bites to swallow her food and take another breath before diving back into the syrup covered meal before her. It was actually quite disgusting to watch, and never before had she been as thankful that she was just a coffee with cream and sugar person in the morning. If she had food before her, after watching Elizabeth eat, she knew that she never would have been able to get a single bite down.

Her friend, though, didn't seem to mind the attention. In fact, Alexis wouldn't have been surprised if the more she watched the artist, the quicker she ate. There was no talking to her; in fact, there wasn't even room for silent, non-verbal communication with the rate that the blue eyed woman was inhaling her breakfast. So, with nothing else left to do but ponder the situation, Alexis sat back, stared, and waited, hoping her friend would eventually tire herself out or become full, but neither option seemed to be realistic. Finally, after several minutes of what could have been a one person french toast eating contest, the lawyer narrowed down her options to two things: either Elizabeth had a hollow leg where she was storing all her food or the twenty-something year old shop owner was trying to avoid her.

"Elizabeth," she, once again, tried to get the younger woman's attention, but, as she figured she would, she failed. So, resorting to drastic measures, the green eyed attorney waved over their waitress and asked, "would you please take Miss Webber's food away for five minutes so I could have a chance to talk to her?" When the waitress did nothing but stand there, Alexis snapped, "just do it already, and don't worry about the consequences. The tip I'll leave you will make it worth your while."

Eventually, the girl followed directions, sneaking the plate of rapidly disappearing food out from underneath Elizabeth's down turned face.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"That was me trying to save you from a heart attack, Pooh," the lawyer quipped, earning herself a look of shock from her friend. "Yes, I thought that would catch your attention."

"Since when are you familiar with childhood cartoon characters?"

"I'd say probably since about the same time that you turned into a glutton. What's going on, Elizabeth; why are you avoiding me?"

The younger brunette scoffed. "How could I be avoiding you if I'm sitting across from you during breakfast?" Alexis only directed a disbelieving glare in the painter's direction. "Okay, so I'm slightly distracted," her friend continued defensively, "but I have a lot of things on my plate today."

"Ah, so you're transferring your busy schedule into your french toast and trying to take care of all your tasks at once?"

"It's not like that," Elizabeth defended. "I just... I figured if I ate quickly, then we'd have more time to talk after I finished my breakfast."

"So there's nothing you're trying to hide from me?"

"Absolutely not," the blue eyed beauty contended. "You know that we don't keep secrets from each other."

"Alright then, with that in mind, tell me about your evening last night."

The attorney almost smirked to herself when she noticed her friend visibly gulp and blanch before her piercing gaze. Just as she thought...

"Last night?"

"You know," Alexis clarified with sarcasm, "not tonight and not the night before last but last night. I believe it was a Friday evening. We had plans, but you had to cancel to cover a shift at _The No Name_. Any of this sounding familiar?"

"Vaguely."

"Well then vaguely tell me about your evening."

"What's there to tell," Elizabeth asked rhetorically. "I went to work, I waited on tables, made some decent tips, and then went home."

"So nothing else happened, nothing else that would make you seem as if you're ready to jump out of your own skin, nothing that, oh, I don't know, your best friend would take interest in?"

Smirking wickedly, the shop owner teased, "why would Spinelli care about me pulling a night shift down at the restaurant?"

"Very funny, Elizabeth, but you know what I meant."

"I do," the younger woman assured her, "but there's really nothing to tell. I think I'm just anxious. Iggy has her first check up at the vets this afternoon since I got her, and, you know, she's the only pet I've ever had, and I really want to make sure that I'm taking good care of her."

"Please," Alexis waved her friend's concerns off flippantly. "You take better care of that mutt than you do yourself."

"Iggy's not a mutt; she's a purebred Dalmatian."

The lawyer rolled her eyes. "I say apple; you say orange. I just call them as I see them."

Changing the subject on her, Elizabeth asked, "can I have my breakfast back now... even though it's probably cold, and the syrup will be congealed to the plate, and it won't be worth eating."

"For some reason, I have the feeling you'll manage to consume the disgusting fare anyway," the older woman remarked with a wrinkled nose to show her displeasure, but, when her breakfast companion only remained seated, watching her expectantly, she sighed. "Alright then, fine," and she waved over the waitress who was still timidly holding onto the french toast. "Just try not to make a spectacle of yourself this time around."

"Your wish is my command, Kemo Sabe."

Mumbling under her breath, Alexis complained, "you really need to stop hanging around that bookstore geek so much. I think he's starting to turn you towards the dark side."

The only response she received was a hearty laugh before her best friend dived right back into her meal. Turning away in disgust, the attorney picked up her delicate cup, taking a sip of her rapidly cooling coffee, and wincing at its already ruined flavor.

She really hated Saturdays.

Already having gotten the building specs and a copy of the security measures inside of Harbor View Towers, Ric Lansing knew that the best way for him to slip in and out of the high rise fortress without detection was to use the emergency fire exits and then to take the stairs to the top floor where his meeting was going to be held. For a man who wanted their association to be a secret, Alan Morgan certainly didn't employ any cloak and dagger maneuvers to keep their rendezvous private. Instead, he boldly invited him to his home and personal office, requesting that they meet for a late breakfast. Though he had no intentions of actually eating anything that the doctor provided him with, Ric had to admit that he was slightly impressed by the physician's daring, impressed and pleased.

After all, Mr. Morgan's lack of respect for his boss could only mean one thing: that there was a current power struggle taking place inside of the Corinthos organization, and he worked best under constant strain and danger. If the higher ups of the crime syndicate which ran much of the east coast already had issues with each other before his arrival, that would only make it that much easier for him to slip in, do his work, and slip out unharmed with everything he wanted, everything he desired sitting directly in the palm of his hand. And the fact that Luke Spencer was already circling, like the vulture he was, told Ric that things in Port Charles were even more unstable than he had originally anticipated.

So, with those thoughts in mind, he climbed flight after flight of stairs, slowly piecing together his plan for the morning. He would let Alan do most of the talking, allow him to set his own trap that would eventually ensnare him, and, when the meeting was over, Ric knew that he would be one step closer to the power he craved. He would learn everything he could from the doctor, and the information that the older man couldn't or wouldn't provide him with, he would find out on his own in due time. After all, if you had enough money to grease the right palms and enough ambition to go after what you wanted yourself, then anything was within your grasp... including a hostile takeover of what had, at one point, been considered the most stable organization in the country. What a coup it would be to stand back, watch the said organization crumble before his very own eyes, and then step in and take the reigns over himself.

Reaching his destination, he listened outside of the door to the stairwell for anybody else lingering in the hallways. There was the steady tattoo of a guard's paces going back and forth, back and forth just a few meters away from him, but, as always, Ric merely waited patiently for the man to be called away, and, sure enough, not five minutes after he paused to observe his surroundings, he heard someone bellow the name Marco, and the footsteps ceased. Slipping silently through the door, the dark haired, dark eyed, and dark complected man made his way towards Penthouse III, lifted his hand to knock, but, before his knuckles could make contact with the wood, the entrance was pulled open, and he was admitted into the inner sanctum... both literally and figuratively.

In that moment, he realized that he had finally arrived.

After a morning filled with running errands, an already jumpy and slightly paranoid Elizabeth Webber made her way down her street, walking quickly. Though her pace was slow enough to be excused as mere hurry, she knew it was due to the fact that, after the night before, being alone, being outside where she was vulnerable, and being out in the open made her nervous.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew exactly who Sonny Corinthos was, and, although she had known that Jason was associated with him and in the business deep, he had never made her feel as on edge as his boss did. But, despite the fact that Jason had taken care of her the night before, and despite the fact that she trusted him enough to keep her save when they were together, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following her that day, that someone was watching her every move and waiting for her to show a moment of weakness so they could pounce. It was irrational, and she felt certifiable, but, nevertheless, all she wanted to do was get home, lock her front door, and close all her curtains to hide away from the rest of the world.

Apparently, it just wasn't meant to be, though, for, right before she made it to the steps that would take her to her second story apartment, someone came running at her out of nowhere, snatching her purse right off of her shoulder. Too shocked and, perhaps, even too frightened, she just stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. She could see the man getting away from her, she could see him just running away with her purse, the very thing that held every single piece of her identity inside of it, but she did nothing to stop him. She didn't take notice of what he had on, how tall or fit he was; she didn't even pay attention to what escape route he took so she could inform the police.

After several moments of just standing there in a stupor, she came to her sense and ran upstairs to her home, throwing open the door to the apartment, and barricading herself inside. Her breathing was shallow and raged. Her heart was racing so quickly, it was impossible for her to differentiate between one beat and another. And her palms were clammy and shaking. Never before in her life had she been so spoked, not even the time that Patrick had insisted on taking her to a three story haunted hotel for her eleventh birthday, but it wasn't the fact that her purse had just been stolen that scared her the most. Instead, it was the fact that all she wanted to do was call Jason so he would come over and reassure her that had her literally shaking in her boots.

But she wouldn't do that, she wouldn't become one of those girls. Jason was just her friend, her sometimes acquaintance that she would run into around town and they would share a short, little, friendly conversation. He wasn't her boyfriend, and she certainly didn't need him to ride to her rescue. She was adult woman perfectly capable of taking care of and saving herself. Fisting her hands so that they would become steady and calm, she decided, then and there, that she would do just that - that she would take care of and save herself. Picking up her phone, she dialed the police, waiting patiently for someone to answer.

It was almost a surreal feeling, walking around down the sidewalk with one hundred thousand dollars worth of cash filling your pockets. It was his up-front, initial, start-up payment. People walked right past him, not realizing that, if they were to take advantage of him, many of their worries would be solved with a simple pickpocket job. But Ric wasn't concerned. Even if someone was stupid enough to try and steal from him, he would make sure that they learned there lesson once and only once, for, after he was finished with them, they wouldn't be physically capable of robbing someone again.

To say that his meeting with Alan Morgan had gone well that morning would be a complete and total understatement, but he liked those. By using them, it made the person you were conversing with underestimate you, and someone else's underestimation was your golden ticket to success. The doctor had done just that with him, too, believing him to be just another flunky that Spencer had recommended, but Spencer didn't know shit, and he was no one's flunky.

Appearing docile and willing to do just about anything if the price was right, Ric had sat back in the physician's office and listened to him explain how he needed someone to work solely for him, how he had a delicate situation that only the right man could handle, and, how, if done right, the job Ric was being given would allow him to control his son. He learned that Morgan's only child was the intended heir to the Corinthos empire but that the spoiled, pampered golden child didn't want the honor that was being handed to him on a silver platter. And, last but not least, the newcomer to town learned that the key to having everything he wanted in life rested with one relatively naive woman, a Miss Elizabeth Webber.

She was a local, a young woman who owned her own business, who had little family and was estranged from all of them except her brother, and who lived a pretty dull, routine lifestyle. By that information alone, Ric knew that she would be easy to control. It was only a bonus to find out that she was also, apparently, quite attractive. The only downside to the girl was that Morgan's son had an interest in her, but, looking at the glass as if it was half full, that was the only reason why the supposed wannabe artist held any importance at all. So, not only did he have his mark, but he also had a way to amuse himself. Ric knew that if he played his cards right, not only would he be able to steal the organization right form under Jason Morgan's nose but also his girl as well.

And, just like that, with every day that he was in Port Charles, he grew to like the town even more. Life was delicious.

Upon hearing a knock at her door, Elizabeth peered through the peephole. Although she didn't recognize the man before her, he looked respectable enough with his fine if not slightly gaudy suit, but what made her unlock the door for him was the fact that he was dangling her purse from his right hand as if in invitation or in persuasive greeting for her. However, just as she went to hang up the phone, the 911 operator she had been speaking to earlier before being put on hold for a more pressing emergency came back, so she was forced to talk to her instead of greeting the man waiting to speak with her.

"Now, tell me what happened," the operator coaxed her. "You said your purse was stolen, correct?"

"It was, but, now, it's back," a surprised Elizabeth stated, realizing after the words came from her mouth that she sounded like an idiot but not particularly caring. "Someone just brought it back to me. I've got to go." Without further ado, she hung up the phone, tossing it aside to land quietly on her couch.

"I believe this is yours," the stranger told her with a smirk, handing over the handbag. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way."

"Wait," she called out, stopping him. When he turned back around, she said, "at least let me give you a reward of some kind."

"Miss, I can't accept your money. I just saw that guy take your purse, so I got it back for you. That's all."

"And you did all that without even wrinkling your suit," the painter remarked, making the good Samaritan chuckle. "At least let me give you something - a coupon for my store, a cup of hot chocolate..."

"Really, that's okay," he assured her. "I'm fine."

"What about a brownie," Elizabeth rushed to offer. "They're homemade. I just baked them last night after I got home from work. You see, I was upset, and I needed something to calm me down, so I decided to bake brownies."

"Sugar calms you down?"

"What," she questioned the stranger, perplexed by the sheer range of emotions she had already experienced that day and it wasn't even dinner time yet.

"Never mind," the man teased her. "How about this though," he bargained. "I'll take one of those brownies if you'll consider us even, okay?"

Smiling brightly towards him, Elizabeth nodded her head in agreement. "It's a deal," she announced before going into the kitchen. When she returned, she had the largest single brownie she had ever given away wrapped up in her hands. Giving it to the formally dressed male still standing outside on her small porch, she said, "thanks again... for everything..."

"It's Johnny, Miss," the stranger supplied her with his name, accompanying the confession with a wink of his left eye. "Just call me Johnny-on-the-Spot."

With that, he took off down the stairs, whistling to himself. Shutting the door behind her, Elizabeth never saw him retrace his previous steps, she never saw him laugh out loud at the crumbled, prone form of her attacker who was laying unconscious in a side alley, and she never saw him reclaim his seat in the watch out car. In fact, in that moment, all she could care about was that her purse had been returned and just in time for her to take Iggy to the vet.

While it might have been an eventful day, she still had many things to do, and, as long as she kept herself busy, she wouldn't be able to think. She wouldn't think about what had happened at _The No Name _the night before, about lying to Alexis, about her purse being stolen or returned to her, and she wouldn't think about missing Jason. Denial really was a wonderful place to visit on one's day off from work.


	18. Chapter 18

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Eighteen  
FF#278: I got people.**

Damien Spinelli's shop had never opened that morning. Those who frequented the small book store knew of how rare the young man closed down his business. In fact, it was practically unheard of. Maybe because he wasn't one to socialize too much or perhaps it was simply the results of a good immune system, but he practically never got sick, and, with no family, few friends, and definitely no girlfriend, he had few reasons not to go to work. Besides, he didn't mind his job.

It wasn't hard work, running a book store. He either waited on customers, stocked shelves and did inventory, or sat in the back, in his tiny, little, often cluttered and sometimes even slightly smelly office, reading or playing on his computer. In fact, he often came into work early and stayed later than he had to at night, keeping his door open and his lights on as a beacon for wandering souls. While it was an odd way to run a business, he didn't look at his store as just a means to support himself. For Spinelli it was also a place to gather, a place to meet and discuss broad spectrums of interesting topics, a place of learning, and he welcomed all.

However, his entire routine had been interrupted. His alarm clock had not gotten him out of bed that morning, throwing off his schedule, and, instead, he had been rudely roused by a phone call well before any normal human being was physically or even mentally operating. The person on the other end had been a stranger... at first, but, then, after several impatient moments on the caller's behalf that he spent recalling their first and only meeting, the younger man finally placed the stranger making him no longer that but someone he knew. Although a name evaded him and he wasn't even sure if he had been given a name when they had met before, the book store owner placed a face to the voice, and, immediately, lost his appetite.

The voice and the face both belonged to Jason Morgan, something he learned as soon as the taller, broader, and better looking man had fled his shop weeks before, followed closely behind by the elegant Elizabeth from next door, for Spinelli had gotten online and done a general search to discover the other man. What he had found had been harrowing. Organized crime connections, suspected heir to the Don Corleone of Port Charles, and an all around badass, someone his best friend should most certainly be not hanging around with.

But Spinelli, wrongly, had assumed that his meet and greet with the mobster had been a one time deal, a fluke if you will, but, when the synapses started firing properly, when the circuit wires in his brain finally connected the present to the past, the young intellectual's fears came crashing down around him. His most kind and generous friend, Elizabeth, was in too deep, and, now, because of their connection, she was dragging him down into the sullied slums of society as well.

Basically and in as base of an explanation as he could offer himself, the Jackal realized he was up the proverbial feces creek without a paddle.

Too scared to greet his customers, too scared to even eat breakfast, he had managed to dress himself at least partially correct and had wandered down from his second floor apartment only to sit and stare at the wall in his office. Of all the things he should have been doing on what very well could have been his last day on earth, vegetating inanely wasn't on of them. So, with that thought in mind, he had rooted around in his desk for his secret, hidden bag of courage, rolled himself a blunt, and got high. After all, everything looked better under the hazy confusion of a homemade herbal remedy.

When the knock at the front door came, just as he had been expecting it to all morning, he jumped, realizing only a large, dangerous, strong fist could create such a loud pounding noise. Instantly, his fear resurfaced, but, luckily, it wasn't as potent as before. He slithered against the wall, weaving and bobbing his way towards the front of the store. No one was going to catch him off guard, not even an enviably constructed criminal. He was the Jackal, and, if nothing else, his dearest friend in the whole land needed his help, his commitment, his promise to protect her. But, then, just as he reached the entrance to the shop, the door was flung open without his assistance, rendered him immobile, his mouth gaping open like a dying fish.

"What the hell took you so long," his wake up call that morning demanded. "I told you I'd be here at eleven. Why is the shop closed?"

"How...," Spinelli sputtered, pointing behind the new arrival to where the front door of his shop sat swinging wildly back and forth with the various whims of the wind. "It was... but you... Um, how?"

"They're called lock picks, you idiot," the man before him replied sarcastically. "Now, answer my questions. What's going on?"

"I... uh...," the young geek searched for something to say, but the only thing his addled mind could think of were various forms of torture he had seen play out in the mafia movies he had watched over the years. Instead, though, he replaced the various victims with images of his own countenance, witnessing in his mind, on a continuous, looping reel, his bloody, painful death.

"It doesn't matter," Jason snapped, glaring at him. "Just get this place open. I need that as part of my cover. You at least called Elizabeth like I told you to, didn't you?"

Somehow, and he had no idea how, Spinelli found his voice. "Yes, sir, Frighteningly Statuesque One. I followed your directions down to the letter. I left a message, as you instructed me to, on her answering machine at work, detailing the rather regretful, if not dishonest, tale of how her painter's wares were accidentally delivered to my humble establishment instead of hers, requesting that she relieve me of their bulky presence post haste."

"And have you heard back from her?"

The younger man took a step back, attempting to distance himself from the seemingly looming giant before him, but, with ever shuffle his chuck's took, he seemed only to, in fact, move closer. "Her who?"

"Elizabeth," the blonde answered smartly, glowering at him. "What's wrong with you? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were high." Sighing, Jason dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration before lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You are, aren't you?"

"What?"

"High."

For the first time since the underworld underling arrived, the Jackal cracked a smile, his eyes dancing with merriment for just a moment. "As a kiiiite."

Luckily, the two men were saved from further discussion by Elizabeth's presence joining them. "Damien, what's going on? Why aren't you open yet? You're always here before me."

Deciding to hide himself incase his best friend's male suitor made an offensive move towards him, the book store owner ignored the petite artist's questions, allowing the person who had aroused him so disrespectfully that morning to do the honors. However, he didn't go too far. While his knees were literally knocking together out of fright, the current situation was the most excitement he had experienced in years... perhaps even his whole life, and he was going nowhere until all the cards were on the table and the rotund, corpulent lady had sung her final, warbling note.

Making his presence known, Jason responded, "I think I scared him."

"Yeah, what are you doing here?" Glancing around the dark shop, Elizabeth continued. "This is all kind of weird."

"We needed to talk," Spinelli heard the evil though enigmatic blonde remark as he took just two long strides towards his neighbor, grabbed her hand, and led her towards a comfortable leather couch... the very one he was hiding behind. Because it bordered a wall, there was no escaping for the chemically inebriated young man, but he sincerely hoped that the leather loving lethario didn't pull any moves on the brunette, because his empty stomach would not be able to withstand the abuse.

Beginning again, Jason continued, "after everything that happened last Friday night..."

"Please," his best friend interrupted. "I don't want to talk about that. It happened, we can't change it, but there's no need for it to continue to affect us. I hardly ever work nights at the restaurant, so the chances of me ever seeing your boss there again are slim to none."

"I agree, but that doesn't mean he won't come looking for you."

The Jackal could hear the shock in the blue eyed beauty's voice. "What? Why?"

"He thinks that you mean something to me, that we're," Morgan paused, and Spinelli had to stifle a laugh at how awkward he sounded. It almost humanized the guy in his eyes. Finally, he confessed, "he thinks that we're dating. They all do."

"Oh."

"But I'm going to whatever I have to in order to change their minds, but that means that we can't be seen together anymore. Me meeting you here was a risk, but it was our best option at this point. However, it won't happen again."

"So, that's it," Elizabeth wanted to know, sounding almost testy. "Some creep makes a move on me, and you end our friendship?"

"I never said anything about..."

"I'm sorry, but no," the painter argued, ignoring his intrusion into the conversation. "I won't do it."

"That's not what I'm saying; that's not what I want," Jason finally got the chance to tell her, but, still, the book store owner cheered his friend on, marveling at her courage and conviction. If only he could stand up to the mafioso like that, too. "All I meant was that we can't pretend to run into each other in public anymore."

"Pretend?"

By the teasing lilt to the brunette's voice, the Jackal could tell that, unlike her masculine friend, she had believed their run-ins to be accidental.

But the muscled mobular dude simply laughed sheepishly. "When we want to meet, we'll have to get word to each other, but we can't call one other, or email each other, or even write one another letters. It'll have to be by word of mouth."

"That'll be impossible though," Elizabeth argued. "We're not exactly flush with mutual friends, Jason."

"I, uh," Spinelli almost laughed at how uncomfortable the other man sounded. His best friend was truly a wonder. "I have something in mind, actually. You know about the men I work with, right?"

"Well, I met Max."

"There are others, quite a few actually, and most of them work out down at Milo's. I know that you use the gym, too, so, when I want to get in contact with you, I'll pass the world along to one of my men, and they'll give it to Milo to give to you. You'll then pass along a message back through him, and, eventually, it'll get to me."

"And where will we meet? It's going to be winter soon, so we can't keep meeting at the boxcar."

"Don't worry," the older man reassured her, and the book store owner found himself slightly jealous of his confidence. "I've got that covered, too. We have several safehouses in the area, some of which are rarely used. I thought we could meet up at one of them... if that's alright with you."

"Yeah," Elizabeth agreed quickly. "That sounds fine."

"Alright, good," Jason accepted. Startling the Jackal out of his thoughts, he felt a calloused hand reach out and grab him by the scruff of the neck, pulling him up and out from his hiding place. "You can come out now," the future underworld kingpin stated, eyeing the young man before him warily. "Please tell me that you've come down some."

"Spinelli," his best friend chastised him. "You got high... again?"

"It was out of desperation and a need to live life to the fullest while I still had an opportunity to do so," he defended himself, blushing under her disappointment and glancing away from her probing visage. "I wouldn't have even considered breaking my word to you, gentle friend of mine, but this oaf of a suitor of yours made overtures this morning that had the Jackal seeing bloody horse heads and arsenic laced canolis. However, I will humbly admit that it was an error in judgment even if I was under emotional duress."

"What the hell is he talking about?"

"He thinks you're going to put a hit out on him," Elizabeth answered, smirking at the blonde's dumbfounded expression.

Before he had a chance to say anything, though, Spinelli spoke up. "I do not want to die, Stone Cold One. The Jackal is still young. He has much to learn and even more to see. He still needs a chance to spread his wings, to become a living legend, to lose his virginity."

"Uh, come on, Damien," the painter complained, wincing and covering her ears. "I don't need to know that kind of stuff."

As if it would explain everything, he simply replied, "emotional duress, Oh Elegant One."

"You're not going to die; no one is going to kill you."

"But I'm in now," the shop owner insisted. "You know... _in._.. as in the mob."

"No, you're not," Jason argued, standing up and preparing to leave. "The only thing you are is out of your mind." Without saying anything else towards the younger man, he turned and addressed Elizabeth. "I'll see you soon."

Eventually, things at the little book store returned to normal that day. After speaking to him about handing over his hidden supply of grass, his best friend went back to her own store, leaving him alone to smoke another joint in an effort to calm his racing nerves. When, finally, he was back to an even if not slightly calmer keel than normal thanks to the wonders of marijuana, Spinelli opened the store late and went about his business. But he knew things were never going to be the same again. No matter what Jason Morgan, future crime syndicate supremacy extraordinaire, said, he was _in_, and even he knew, once you were in, there was no getting out of the mob.


	19. Chapter 19

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**FF#279: (Walkin' On) Broken Glass**

Luke was just about to call it a night... even though it was closing in on twelve o'clock in the afternoon... but, before he could stand, the eerie but yet still hesitant sound of the back door to the abandoned blue's club he inhabited alerted him to the fact that he had a guest, an unexpected, unwelcome, uninvited guest. But, still, he didn't reach for his barely concealed weapon. Instead, he remained seated, his old, weathered desk chair tilted back in a sign of rebellion, and reached out to pour himself a nightcap, waiting patiently the entire time for his visitor to approach.

He didn't fear the intrusion. After all, how many mafia hits went down during the morning hours, and, even if someone was coming after him, looking to take him out, they would make it loud and grandiose, announcing to the world that Luke Spencer was finally dead. It would have been a dramatic shootout on the steps of his perpetually closed nightclub or a big, loud, flashy bomb set to go off at night when the fireworks would have been that much brighter for everyone else to see. No, the person who was intruding upon his peace and sanctuary that morning was someone who didn't know any better, someone who didn't know him.

And, sure enough, as he watched the younger man approach from the long, dark hallway that led to his office, his suspicions were confirmed. A few days had passed since he'd last seen Jason Morgan, but, still, the kid looked as serious as ever. Watching him without words being passed between them, Luke had to wonder if the heir to the Corinthos empire ever did crack a smile, if he ever had a little fun. He didn't think so, but, then again, the rogue realized, chuckling silently to himself, if he had been raised by Alan Morgan, he probably would have been just as stoic. The Doc was a true blowhard in his opinion, all work and no play, and that, most certainly, had never been the Spencer way, and it never would be. After all, what was the point of being in the mob if you didn't take full advantage of it, if you didn't have a little fun every now and again? Theirs was a life that was supposed to be filled with indulgence and debauchery, fast women and even faster cars, good food and even better booze, and he, for one, enjoyed the spoils every chance he got.

"I must say," the older, graying man stated, waving dramatically through the smoke ridden air of his office to indicate that Jason should take a seat. "This is a surprise, not a pleasant one but certainly curious. What can I do for you, son?"

He smirked as he noticed the blonde across from him visibly tense and scowl at the sometimes affectionate often times derogatory when uttered from his mouth endearment, but the silent man quickly righted himself, concealing his thoughts and feeling behind an impenetrable wall once again. "I just came here to apologize."

"For what?"

"For losing my temper at the meeting last Friday," the younger Morgan stated blandly. "It was inappropriate, and it shouldn't have happened."

"Now, don't go doin' that," Luke argued, letting his chair tip back down loudly as he leaned against his desk to get a better look at his guest. "I don't know about you, but, personally, I had fun at the meeting. You and Corinthos certainly put on a good show for the rest of us."

"That wasn't my intention..."

"Oh, of course it wasn't," the con artist waved off Jason's polite, almost prepared speech. "No one can plan that kind of stuff, but it was good, real entertaining."

"And that also wasn't the point of our... disagreement," the younger man contended, his impatience starting to show.

"You pulled a gun on your boss, on your mentor," Luke pointed out. "I'd say that was a little bit more than a disagreement, but it doesn't really matter," he waved off, changing the subject rapidly. "And I accept your apology on one condition."

"And that would be?"

"Tell me about the girl," he demanded, wiggling his practically all white eyebrows in a wicked manner. "What was the little tart's name again..." He paused as if waiting for his visitor to supply the information for him, but, when Jason simply sat there absolutely still, the older of the two men answered the question for himself. "Elizabeth, wasn't it?" He whistled, exaggerating the sound with an appreciate hoot at the end. "She was quite the looker - curvy little body, tight little ass, and those big blue eyes that would almost make a man want to go legitimate for her... almost."

"My argument with Sonny had nothing to do with the waitress herself," Jason contended. "I simply didn't like the way he was treating her, not because she means anything to me but because she's a woman. Women are supposed to be respected, not treated cruelly or embarrassed in public. If there was one thing my Grandmother Lila taught me before she passed away, it was that."

"Your Grandmother, huh," Luke queried, narrowing his gaze as he studied the blonde across from him in an attempt to make heads or tails of the young kid's declaration. While he knew little about him and even less about his scruples, he didn't give off any of the traditional signs of guilt or dishonesty. His gaze remained steady and practiced the whole time they spoke, his voice never wavered, and he didn't once fidget. As far as he could tell, the young man was being truthful if not slightly misguided in his gentlemanly ways, and, even though such sentiments wouldn't get him very far in their business, there was no reason why he shouldn't believe him. "So you and the little brunette..."

"While I can appreciate her physical attributes, I don't know her personally, and I never will. I don't have time in my life for a relationship with a woman," Jason informed him smoothly. "If I'm not working with Sonny and learning something new about the organization, I have my own duties to see to. Besides, women just aren't practical with our lifestyle. They either get hurt, or they're a liability, and I won't tolerate either result."

"Well, apparently, you've learned a few things from Corinthos, too," the graying rogue realized, tilting his head towards his visitor almost in a complimentary way. "Granny wasn't the only molding influence in your life."

"Perhaps," the mafia protege offered as he stood up. Holding out a hand to the older man, he parted without further word, disappearing from the office as mysteriously as he arrived, but, still Luke didn't yet retire for the afternoon as he usually did, and he didn't even finish off his awaiting glass of scotch. Instead, he remained seated, studiously watching the empty space before him where Morgan had just been sitting. The kid was green, that was for sure, but he had a decidedly confident and able air about him, and the older man found himself wondering if, perhaps, he had under estimated the Corinthos heir, if, perhaps, everyone had.

So far, so good. After meeting with Elizabeth earlier that morning, Jason had dropped in unannounced on Luke Spencer and then proceeded to lie and boast his way through a discussion with Sonny, telling the don exactly what he wanted to hear in an effort to make him forget about the incident at _The No Name_ a few days before. They had shared a drink or two despite the fact that neither of them had consumed lunch yet, and they had brazenly discussed women, making rude, caustic remarks about the opposite sex together like bonding males sometimes did. Jason also made sure that he drove the point home that he was, in no way, shape, or form interested in the petite waitress. He told his mentor that he had drank too much wine that night, that he had found the brunette attractive but realized later that she would only be a distraction, taking him away from what was really important and that was business, and that he would have done what he had done, stuck up, for any woman, no matter her age or her looks. He didn't know if he had been convincing or if Sonny had just consumed too much liquor already that day, but the older man seemed to have believed him. With two targets down, though, he still had to face his harshest, most realistic critic: his father.

Alan, unlike Luke, knew him well enough to know when he was lying, and the doctor so rarely imbibed to the point of drunkenness, that Jason knew he wouldn't be able to get his father wasted in order to trick him into accepting his word. Instead, he would have to put on the performance of his lifetime. Not only was Elizabeth's safety riding on the conversation he was about to have with his Dad, but it would also tell him just how hard it was going to be to escape the control his elders had on him. If he was going to someday make his way out from underneath both Sonny and his father's thumbs, then he was going to have to be able to pull off a simple scam, and maybe that was why he was so nervous when he finally raised a hand to knock on the physician's door.

"Come in," he heard his Dad command from behind the heavy mahogany wood.

He listened, obliging the older man's orders, sticking his head in through the apartment's entrance. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, not at all," Alan offered, clearing some paperwork from his desk as he looked up at his son with what appeared to be a genial smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I just... I wanted to talk about last weekend."

The doctor folded his hands before him before sitting back in his leather chair. "What about it?"

"I was out of line at the meeting, and I felt as if I should explain myself."

"Really, son," his father protested, waving off his concerns. "There's no reason to. Although I wouldn't have behaved as you did - you've always been slightly more rash than I was as a boy - I do agree with your stance. What Sonny did to that girl was wrong. Your Grandmother would have been proud of you for defending the waitress' honor."

He hadn't been expecting that - such understanding, such compassion. Alan Morgan almost always sided with Sonny Corinthos on all matters, whether or not he agreed with the mob boss or not, so to hear his Dad actually speak out against his employer was a rarity, and it made Jason doubt the older man's sincerity. "But..."

"No buts," the physician contended, shrugging his shoulders. "Do I wish that you would have handled yourself differently, perhaps spoken to Sonny afterwards in private instead, yes, but I cannot find fault with the reasoning behind your actions, son. All I can ask is that you, in the future, try to conduct yourself in a more rational manner." Just as the young blonde was about to rise, though, his Dad pressed on. "However, I would appreciate it if you would tell me some about your girlfriend, perhaps even introduce us, now that your secret is out in the open."

"Excuse me?"

"You and this Webber girl," Alan prompted, "you're dating, aren't you?"

And this was exactly what he had been fearing. "No," Jason denied as blandly as he possibly could. Although it was the truth, he also had feelings for Elizabeth, and he certainly didn't need his father finding out about and then exploiting them. "We're not."

"Oh," the doctor commented, his dark brows practically forming a straight line across his wrinkled forehead as he frowned. "But I thought..."

"I know of her," the younger of the two men admitted. "We've met a few times around town - at Kelly's, in the park, in this book store we both go to sometimes, but that's about it. In fact," he found himself continuing, not sure where the idea came from or why he was saying something so unfounded and false, "I'm actually seeing someone else."

"I see," Alan nodded, neither accepting or denying his son's claims. "Then tell me, Jason," he demanded, leaning across the expansive desk in a physical display of challenge. "If you're dating someone else, why exactly does this girl wear your Grandmother's angel, something I gave you, around her neck?"


	20. Chapter 20

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty  
FF#280: Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex**

Elizabeth had never been so baffled by a man, and that said quite a lot. Growing up, her own father had always been a mystery to her, and, even to that day, they still didn't understand one another. Then there was Patrick, and, though she loved her older brother, and despite the fact that they were close, more best friends than brother and sister, she still didn't always get him. The boys she had liked in school always ended up confusing her, and college relationships for the young artist had proved just as futile. She was great at being a guy's friend, but as soon as she considered romance, everything productive between her and a man flew out the window. So, she became cautious, perhaps even too much so, and she approached every relationship with the opposite sex tentatively, giving them more than enough time to either progress naturally on their own or, like all the others, fail before she became too emotionally attached.

But Jason Morgan was different.

For the first time in her life, she understood a guy. They could talk for hours with each other if the opportunity ever presented itself or merely sit in a comfortable silence. While they had similarities, they weren't carbon copies of each other, but their differences only seemed to bring them closer. So, despite herself and the declarations she had made to Alexis, Elizabeth knew that her feelings for the blonde mob heir were deeper than just pure friendship, but, at the same time, she wasn't quite sure what she felt for him. Was it just attraction, or was she falling for Jason, and, if so, how would that affect their relationship. Her past experience made her fearful that any romantic involvement would ruin their closeness, but it wasn't a simple thing, shutting off one's heart.

So, when he called her that afternoon, not requesting, not even ordering, but simply stating that they had to meet, she had gone willingly with figurative bells on her shoes. She had closed down her store early, gone upstairs to her apartment to change into something nice, telling herself she would put that much effort into going to see anyone and that it wasn't just for Jason, and she had followed his hastily given instructions about how to get to their meeting place.

She had driven to the public library and parked her car, going inside only to sneak out the back with Max. From there, the always friendly yet always professional guard drove her out of town, twisting and turning and doubling back as if he was trying to either lose someone from their tail or prevent someone from finding it in the first place. By the time they arrived at the safe house, she had no idea how to get their on her own but, at the same time, didn't care. She trusted Jason, knew that he would get her back home safely, and just wanted to see him.

The only thing that made her pause, however, was the fact that he had told her implicitly that she had to leave his grandmother's angel in the library. No explanations. No 

reassurances that she would get it back. And that was what had her baffled. For the first time since they started to get reacquainted with one another, she didn't understand her friend, and the realization made her feel somewhat unsettled. Pushing aside her questions, and her doubts, and her insecurities, she let herself into the small, cozy cabin in the woods, a joyful smile lighting up her face.

"I didn't think I'd hear from you this…"

But he didn't even allow her to finish her greeting. Instead, before she could take in her surroundings, before she could even strip off her coat, scarf, and gloves, Jason was at her side, drawing her further into the safe house, and pushing her down onto the couch. He sat beside her awkwardly, never once meeting her gaze, until finally he picked up his head and locked his startlingly sincere blue eyes on her and stated, "I need you to find me a girlfriend."

And, just like that, Elizabeth knew exactly how she felt for the man she was with, but the revelation didn't really seem to matter at that point.

"What?"

"I know," he laughed, his tone showcasing absolutely no amusement. "It's crazy, but it's the first thing I thought of when my father started to confront me about you this morning."

"Me," she parroted, feeling like a first rate idiot. Here Jason was, apparently in the middle of something serious, and she had no idea what he was talking about. All she could think about was the fact that he hadn't asked her to meet him at the safe house to spend time with her; he had asked her there so that she could help him find someone else, some other woman, for him to spend time with. It stung, and it immediately set her on edge. "Why were you talking about me with your father?"

"I was trying to clear up the whole mess that went down at _The No Name _last week," the blonde explained, standing and walking over to the lit fireplace. Leaning against the mantel, he watched the flames as he talked instead of looking at her. "I could tell that he didn't believe me, that he somehow knew that you weren't just some random waitress to me, and I had no idea how to convince him otherwise. Then, before I knew what I was saying, I was telling him that I had a girlfriend and that she wasn't you. So, now, I'm stuck." Running a large, tanned hand through his messy hair, he pressed on. "I need to find someone I can be seen with around town, seemingly on dates, but I don't know very many people outside of the business, and I sure as hell don't have the time to actually go out and find someone who would be willing to pose as my girlfriend."

Now that Elizabeth understood. Pulling herself up from the comfortable sofa, she approached her friend, laying a gentle, almost reassuring hand on his shoulder. The simple touch brought his attention towards her, and, once he was looking at her face, she inquired, "pose as your girlfriend? So, you're really not going to date her?"



"As far as the rest of the world is concerned and especially my father, we'll be a real couple, but I'll know the truth, this woman, whomever she turns out to be, will know the truth, and, most importantly, you'll know the truth as well."

It wasn't a grand declaration of love and devotion, and it wasn't even as traditionally important as the first kiss, but, to Elizabeth, the honesty Jason was displaying with her, the need he had to include her in his life was more intimate than anything else she had ever experienced with a man, and, for that evening, it was enough.

"Can you give me a couple of days," the brunette painter asked of him. "I think I have someone in mind, but it's going to take some tricky maneuvering on my part to get her to agree."

"I don't want to involve someone who will be uncomfortable with the whole situation."

"As long as you can promise me that she'll be safe, she'll be fine."

"I swear, Elizabeth," Jason told her emphatically. "All I'm asking is for a few fake, public dates, and, by the time the men in the various organizations get wind of the relationship, we'll stage a very public, very ugly breakup, making it clear that she means nothing to me and vice versa."

"And then after that…"

"I don't know," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "We'll just have to see how things play out." Nodding her head, the store owner agreed. "There's something else I have to talk to you about. Will you come and sit down with me again?"

Acquiescently, she allowed her friend to lead her back over to the couch, reclining back down next to him. This time, they were sitting closer, and, although she didn't bring attention to the close proximity of their bodies, she relished it. As they relaxed, Elizabeth could feel Jason's leg pressed up against her own, and, as he turned to face her so they could talk, his right arm went up on the edge of the sofa, around her. Whenever she moved just the slightest bit, she would feel the bare skin of his forearms brush against the back of her neck or the gentle curve of her shoulder. The familiarity of the touches almost made her blush.

"So," she started, prompting him to share whatever information he needed to tell her.

"It's about my Grandmother's angel," the blonde confessed, his gaze filled with sympathy and remorse as he spoke. "I didn't realize it when I gave it to you, but it's not really a memento my father gave me in memory of his mother; instead, it's a tracking device."

Flabbergasted, Elizabeth demanded, "it's a what?"

"I know, and I'm sorry. I don't think I ever would have realized it if my Dad wouldn't have 

slipped up this morning. When we were talking, he asked me why some girl that I wasn't dating had my Grandmother's angel. At the moment, I didn't realize what he had just confessed to. I was too focused on figuring out something to tell him to get us out of this mess."

"And what did you say?"

He shook his head ruefully, as if regretting what he was about to tell her. "I told him I didn't know, that I had lost it a while ago and couldn't find it, that it must have fallen off my bike one day while I was out riding." Sighing, he admitted, "it was a bad cover, but what else was I supposed to say? I figured I'd keep it simple and keep you out of the lie as much as possible. I doubt my Dad believed it, but, now, at least we can use the information to our advantage."

Wrinkling her brow in question, the young businesswoman wanted to know, "how do you mean?"

"Well, when I asked my father how he knew that you had the angel, he told me he saw it on you that night at _The No Name_."

"That's impossible," Elizabeth interjected, arguing. "Yes, I had it on, but it was underneath my uniform, and he never would have been able to see it."

"I know," her friend reassured her, chuckling softly at her impassioned outcry. "Trust me, I watched you enough that evening to know whether or not the angel had been visible, and it wasn't. However, I sure as hell didn't tell my Dad that. Instead, I accepted what he told me, but, after I left his office, I started thinking. I remembered how he has always been able to find me so easily when he really needed to, how he would show up, randomly, at the oddest of places when I was there, and I thought about how he had known to send Max looking for you a few weeks ago, and, suddenly, it clicked."

"That the angel is not just a little token to remember your Grandmother by but a way for your father to control you."

"And, now, you, too," Jason agreed with her. "Except, now," he smirked wickedly, "we know the truth, and we can use it to beat my father at his own game. Well, I mean if you're willing to…"

"What would I have to do," Elizabeth wondered.

"You'd have to wear the angel every day, continue what you have been doing, but, when we want to see each other, when we want to meet, you'll have to go someplace and leave the angel there so my father thinks you're not with me… like you did tonight. It's just another way we can make sure that you're safe."

With her curiosity piqued, the young artist asked, "another way?"  
  
But Jason ignored her. "Come on," he insisted, standing up and reaching out to grasp her hands and bring her up to a standing position with him. "Are you hungry? I'm hungry. How about I make us some dinner?"

She found the fact that he could cook quite cute, but, at the same time, she was not going to be distracted from her question by his diversion tactics. "Yes, I'm hungry, and yes, you can cook us some dinner, but, first, you're going to tell me what you just meant when you said this ruse was just another way to keep me safe. What else are you doing, Jason?"

"Well," he hedged, never once looking at her and, instead, pulling her towards the back of the house where the kitchen was located, "I was just talking about our secret meetings and having Max pick you up and drive you out here."

"Okay," the brunette allowed slowly, rolling his statement around in her head for a few moments until she was satisfied with its honesty. Though she wasn't sure that it was everything the future heir to the Port Charles underworld was doing to keep her safe, she would drop the subject for the moment. Instead of questioning him further, she was just going to enjoy their evening together. Besides, she really was hungry.

"So," she asked, hopping up onto the kitchen counter. Grinning at Jason while swinging her legs back and forth like a child, she demanded to know, "what exactly are you going to make me, because I'm starving."

… And for more than just food.


	21. Chapter 21

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty-One  
FF#281: Liar, liar, pants on fire.**

Taking a long drag from his imported bottle of beer, Patrick Webber hopped up onto his island countertop, ready for a show. He had long since been aware of the persuasive powers women possessed. After all, a man couldn't share his home with Carly Roberts and not know a thing or two about feminine manipulation, but, for what might have been the first time ever, he was going to get to see it in used against another woman, and he was going to make damn sure that he had a front row seat for such an event.

Although the neurosurgeon had his objections to his baby sister's fledgling relationship with mob ingénue extraordinaire, Jason Morgan, she was an adult, and, just as she had hesitantly accepted his relationship with Carly, he knew he was expected to do the same for her. He also had doubts about their plan to have Jason be seen about town with another woman escorted on his arm in order to draw attention away from his sister, but, on the other hand, he didn't have any better ideas, so he agreed to help her, albeit slightly reluctantly, and, since he was already in the mess, he figured he should at least make the most of it.

So, that's why he and Carly had called both Elizabeth and Alexis that evening for an impromptu dinner. He had cooked – or ordered in and reheated, and, in exchange, the women had offered to clean up the kitchen while he had a beer or two. But the agreed upon trade had ended up with his sister doing all the work as she washed the dishes and packed the leftovers away, while Alexis made her way through a bottle of wine, Patrick assumed to combat her belligerent relationship with his girlfriend, and Carly sat at the kitchen table, flipping through just another one of her endless stream of clothing catalogs that came in the mail.

At the moment, the two of them were arguing over proper color schemes for a professional office, something the doctor knew the lawyer cared absolutely nothing about, but, after receiving a pleading look from his sister, he decided to intervene, despite the risks such an action would prove against his own life. "Ladies, please," he beseeched them, a dimpled grin softening the frustrated tone of his voice. "This isn't a courtroom, Alexis," he chided the older woman, "and, Carly," he turned towards his live-in girlfriend, "why can't you realize that she's just baiting you?"

"She's still wrong," the interior designer contended, leveling her enemy with a haughty smirk. "I mean, look at her. It's obvious that she has no taste whatsoever."

"That's nice," he flippantly remarked, not even really paying attention to what the blonde said. Instead, he clapped his hands together, signaling a change in subject. "So, tell me, Immy, what's going on with you lately?"

His sister sighed. It was a put upon, depressed, almost desperate sound of dissatisfaction. 

"I'm afraid it's something that no one could really help me with, not even you guys."

"Now, that I resent," Alexis stated dramatically. "I like to think that I can fix just about anything. You get arrested, you call me. You have problems with a customer, or the bank concerning your building lone, or you need financial advice, those are things I can always help you with."

"Yeah, well, this is personal."

Carly snorted. "Well, you better not ask the suit about that. If you're having guy problems, I guess," the blonde rolled her eyes, struggling to say her next words. "I guess you can come to me. If anyone's going to be able to help you with a man, I should be able to."

"That's because you've already spread your legs for most if not all of them," Alexis cracked, laughing at her own joke.

Hiding behind his beer, Patrick took another long pull from the dewy bottle. While he loved Carly and was thankful for her presence in his life, he was also fully capable of recognizing her flaws, and, though the attorney greatly exaggerated his girlfriend's previous lack of discretion towards men, he knew that she had been less than pure when he had met her. Hell, that had been half the attraction in the first place for the neurosurgeon, and it wasn't like he was saint either.

Clearing his throat, he decided to reign in the argument that was already starting to brew between the two antagonistic women. Speaking louder than they were, he turned the attention back to his sister. "Immy, just tell us what's going on. Even if we can't help you, sometimes just saying something out loud makes the answer to your problems a little bit clearer."

"If I tell you," Elizabeth bargained, looking over her shoulder to glare at her friend, "then you have to promise me that you'll limit the commentary and the 'I told you so's,' and, instead, just focus on helping me. Can you do that?"

"I don't care what you do with your personal life… or your professional one, for that matter," the interior designer informed her candidly. "And, besides, I'm not one to ridicule someone else for their relationship choices. That would be Alexis."

"And she was speaking to me when she offered us that warning," the lawyer returned just as snidely. "You know, it's reassuring, though, to know that you never change. Not even living with a renowned doctor has improved your intelligence. Subtlety is just never going to be your strong suit, is it, Carly?"

"Alright, retract the claws, ladies," his sister was the one to break them up that time, and Patrick had to admit he was grateful for the fact. Someday, the two of them together were going to turn on the person who tried to stand between their fights, and the result wouldn't be pretty. "The short of it is," Elizabeth continued, explaining her problem, "Jason's… 

business associates have gotten wind of our friendship…"

"Friendship my ass," Alexis mumbled, rolling her eyes, but the brunette who was elbow deep into greasy dish suds ignored her.

"And, to turn their attention off of us, he's going to start dating someone… or pretend to, at least."

"So, what's the problem," his girlfriend asked, sounding confused. "Morgan's hot. I'm sure he could get just about any woman in this town to date him."

"Except we just don't want any woman," the painter stressed. "Whoever he pretends to date has to be aware that this is just a ruse. She needs to be attractive yet intelligent, someone it would make sense for Jason to date, but, at the same time, she also needs to be accepting of the fact that there will never be more between them besides friendship."

"Plus, don't forget the whole danger issue," Alexis quipped, chuckling softly at her own mocking remark. "Whoever this woman turns out to be will have to be willing to enter into the line of fire; she's going to have to be stupid enough to be willing to trade her life for a few good, last meals."

"Not true," Elizabeth stressed, tossing her dishrag into the sink and causing tiny soap bubbles to come up and splatter against her sweater. Pivoting on her heal to face her friend, she contradicted, "Jason's promised me that he'll keep whoever this woman is safe. Besides, by the time his business associates realize that he's, quote on quote, seeing someone, he's going to stage a very public, very messy breakup, and then the woman will be free to go back to her regular, boring life."

Not willing to relent yet, the attorney pressed, "and where will that leave you and your Romeo?"

"We're not seeing each other."

"Yes," the older woman added smugly. "You're not seeing each other YET."

Patrick was surprised that his girlfriend had managed to remain silent during the whole back and forth exchange, but, when a silence fell between the two bickering brunettes, she finally spoke up. "Well, I guess I could talk to my friends, see if any of them would be interested, but I've got to tell you, Elizabeth," she warned his sister. "Most of them are not going to be satisfied with just pretending to date Jason Morgan. They're going to want the real thing."

"Actually, now that you mention it," the shop owner admitted, averting her gaze from Carly's as her words tailed off softly. He had to grin at his baby sister's game. The woman knew how to play people, and he would be fooling himself if he didn't admit he was impressed by her. Crossing his legs up on the counter so that he could lean his elbows on his bent knees, Patrick prepared himself for the kill, savoring every last minute of the 

performance occurring before him.

Elizabeth twisted her fingers in a dish towel, rubbed her sock covered toes against the back of her pant leg. Distractedly, nervously, she bit her bottom lip before finally glancing up to meet the interior decorator's gaze. "I was kind of wondering if you'd be willing to help us out." Once the idea was out there, she started talking rapidly. "I mean, I know that you're in love with my brother, so I won't have to worry about you trying anything with Jason. Plus, you're a beautiful, interesting woman, Carly. You could definitely pull this off."

Exploding, Alexis stood up so rapidly from her seat at the kitchen table, she knocked her chair over backwards, but, so lost was she in the moment, she never noticed. "Are you insane?! A man like Jason Morgan would _never _date a woman like Carly Roberts. Five minutes in her presence, and he'd personally be calling out a hit on her."

"Excuse me," his girlfriend retorted angrily. "I am in the room here!"

"Just, for once," the attorney pleaded with her, her patience threatening to snap, "shut up for a minute, would you?" Looking back towards the brunette artist, she continued. "I don't know if you're too hyped up on raging hormones right now, but you're not thinking clearly, Elizabeth. Carly and Jason together would be a disaster. Her idea of intelligent conversation consists of discussing the latest Hollywood sex scandal. From what you've told me, Jason enjoys history and horticulture, traveling and economics. I mean, let's really think about this.

"What would he and Carly do on their dates – get facials together? Perhaps he could hold her bags for her while she, single handedly, racks up the largest fourth quarter profits Wyndhams has ever seen? No, I don't think that would work out too well," Alexis argued. "He's going to need someone whom he can take out to dinner at a fancy restaurant, who won't pull a Pretty Woman moment and send her escargot sailing across the room. He needs someone whom he can ask to go to the theatre with him, and they won't be expecting to see the latest slasher flick. He needs someone who understands proper etiquette, who is rational minded and calm, and, above everything else, he needs someone, for this, who absolutely despises him and everything he stands for just to make sure that whomever this woman is doesn't go and find herself falling in love with him, because, at the end of this entire ordeal, whether you want to admit it or not, it's going to be you standing by Jason's side and not this fake girlfriend."

Loud, taunting clapping erupted from his girlfriend's hands at the end of the lawyer's speech. "Why, congratulations, counselor," Carly mocked, saluting her rival with a tip of her finely groomed head. "You just made an excellent case… for yourself. After all that you just said, there's no one else Elizabeth could possibly find to date Jason but you. I hope you're evenings for the next couple of weeks are free, Alexis, because you just found yourself a boyfriend, fake though he may be."

Patrick watched fascinated as the always articulate, always reserved, always in control attorney simply gaped at his girlfriend like a guppy, and he let out a comical fit of laughter. 

Immy had done it; she had set out to trap Alexis into pretending to date Jason, and, without even really putting forth an effort, she got the results she wanted. Game, set, and match. He had never been more proud of her.


	22. Chapter 22

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
FF#282: The meek shall inherit the earth.**

Growing up, his mother had always stressed to him how important it was to start off each and every day with a healthy, balanced breakfast, and he still managed to live by that motto. Many of his mother's teachings had disappeared from his life over the years – his lifestyle and career choices dictating a more unlawful, ungodly mindset than he had been raised to believe in, but, where he could manage to honor his mother's memory, Sonny Corinthos chose to do so, and one such area was his penchant for cooking and eating properly, especially breakfast.

So, with that thought in mind, no matter how late he was out the night before and no matter what kind of shape he was in the morning after, he always woke up earlier enough to make himself a gourmet feast. Alone, he'd sit at his impressively large and equally as expensive dining room table, slowly consuming bite after bite. He didn't work while he had breakfast, for the distraction wasn't good on the digestive process, and he refused to be interrupted, no matter how important the matter might be.

On that particular morning, he felt fresh and rejuvenated after a long night's rest. Although the last thing he remembered concretely from the day before was Jason coming over to speak with him about their little disagreement at _The No Name_, he had suffered from neither dreams that previous night nor insomnia. Sometimes drinking himself to the point of passing out was the only way he found any true peace, but he was determined to stay away from the liquor bottle that day. There were things of importance to handle, meetings to take, and strategies to plan, but all of that would have to wait until after he had his first meal of the day. Whatever demons may come to him later that night when he finally retired to his bedroom, well, he would deal with them then.

He was in the middle of debating between making himself crepes or a Spanish omelet when there was a knock at the door, and, since breakfast hadn't officially started yet, he decided to allow the visitor admittance. "Yeah," the crime boss barked out, his back towards the entrance of his home as he looked out the closed and bolted shut French doors. It had snowed the night before, leaving Port Charles blanketed in a white haze. The crystallized precipitation made the little town, his very own empire, appear softer, more inviting, and Sonny found himself hating the image before him.

"Morning, boss," a young guard greeted him, sticking his closely cropped and impeccably groomed head into the apartment. After all, he demanded that all his employees, from dock worker to accountant, constantly maintain a professional appearance. "Lucky Spencer's here to see you. Should I show him in," Adam asked respectfully. The kid was always polite, almost to the point where the don wondered if the bodyguard was afraid of him, and he never spoke higher than in a deferential whisper. Sonny liked him. The youngster knew how to take orders, and he never once questioned anything he told him to do. "I know it's early, so you haven't had your breakfast yet. I could tell him to come back later if you..."  


"No, that's alright, Adam," the Cuban commanded. "He can enter." Gracing the guard with one of his most compelling smiles, Sonny warmly stated, "and good morning to you, too."

He had to stifle a bark of laughter when the sandy haired kid nearly blanched completely ashen with terror. It was widely known in their business that an angry Sonny Corinthos was dangerous, but a calm, rational, and kind Sonny Corinthos was just plain deadly. Though he was not angry with the doorman, he still enjoyed instilling a proper sense of fear in him. After all, fear meant respect, and respect meant loyalty and productivity, the two most important things he asked of his men.

"Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Corinthos," Luke's son and protégée greeted him as he strode confidently through the door Adam was holding open for him, his arms weighed down with several grocery bags."

The don waited for the junior bodyguard to close the door before he replied, "Lucky, please, we've discussed this already. For the son of a friend," he slapped the younger man on the back before reaching out to grasp some of his bags. "It's Sonny."

"Of course, anything you say."

He had to chuckle at that, throwing another dimpled grin towards the dark haired man's way. Oh how he loved being obeyed. "So, what brings you buy early this morning, and," he asked, nodding down towards both of their occupied hands, "what's all this?"

"Well, Sonny," Lucky began, motioning towards the hall which lead into the back of the penthouse and the kitchen. "May I?" The crime lord silently acquiesced his approval, and the two of them started on their way towards his favorite room of the house. "There's a nasty rumor circulating around out there that says you know how to cook."

"Not just cook but cook well."

This time it was the younger man's turn to laugh. "I see you're not modest about the attribute either."

"Modesty gets you nowhere in life, kid," Sonny informed him. "Besides, my mother taught me never to lie." He had to hand it to Spencer when he didn't bat an eye at such a ridiculous statement. "But that still doesn't explain to me why you come to my home bearing groceries."

"Unlike you, I can't cook. Growing up, Dad's idea of providing me with a meal was handing me a bowl of peanuts and a beer. Gradually, I progressed to whiskey and then scotch, too, like him, but, unlike the unflappable Luke Spencer, I can't consist solely on booze and cigars," Lucky claimed, chuckling softly at the idea. "So, coming here this morning, my goal was to interest you in giving me some cooking lessons in exchange for purchasing the groceries."  


"That all depends upon what kind of food you bought."

"Oh, only the best money could buy," the twenty-something year old promised, dropping his supplies onto the island countertop before pulling out various bundles of fresh fruit and other commodities. "Everything is all natural and additive free."

"Someone did their homework," Sonny complimented him, rifling through the goods assembled before him. "And these things will do; I can work with this. However," he paused long enough to eye the younger man standing beside him, "I doubt this is why you came all the way over here so early in the morning. Is there something else I can do for you?"

"To be honest," Spencer started only to be interrupted by the Cuban.

"That's the only way you're ever going to get anywhere with me, kid."

"I want a job," Lucky answered, either unfazed by the crime boss' thinly veiled threat or too stupid to heed it. "And, no offense, but I don't want to be running paperwork around town or trailing after Morgan's shoestrings like you said before."

"Is there any particular area of my business that does interest you?"

"The casinos," his guest informed him without pause. "Not only would I be happy working in that type of environment, but I think I could make you a lot of money there, too. If there is anything my Dad has taught me over the years, it's how to win at cards, no matter how high the stakes are. I can count cards, deal from the bottom of the deck, and bluff my way out of anything, but, at the same time, I can recognize these traits in any opponent I face, too. I don't care what I have to do, Mr. Corinthos… I mean, Sonny," he corrected himself. "I'll start anywhere on the ladder, even the bottom rung."

"Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary," the don assured him. "But let's focus on cooking right now, shall we. We'll make breakfast, we'll eat, and, then, afterwards, we'll have a nice long discussion about where I see you fitting into my organization. By the way, Lucky," he added, challenging the younger man with a playful lift of his brows, "how do like the tropics?"

Ritchie Morelli loved the easy things in life – fast women, quick money, and bullshitting his way into and out of any situation, and that's why he loved stakeouts. In his line of work, it was usually the safest and more laidback job a guy could have. He'd much rather sit in a company car all day, drinking coffee and eating take out, then schlep his way around the warehouse, lugging coffee beans from one stack to another, or performing tasks of a much more illegal and therefore risky nature. And a stakeout job didn't get any easier than watching Elizabeth Webber's art shop five days a week. Not only that, but Jason paid him double time to practically do nothing. Life was grand.



Leaning back in his leather seat, he folded his large, thin hands behind his head, resituating himself in order to find a more comfortable position. So far, it had been just like all the other days he had watched the petite brunette's place of business. She opened late in the morning, puttered around restocking shelves or sketching in between customers, and paid him absolutely no attention. In fact, if he wasn't nervous about other people, people just walking along the street or other shop owners, discovering his watchful position, he thought he could have pretty much parked out in the middle of the road, his high beams directed right inside her shop's front window, and he highly doubted the young woman would ever have noticed his continual presence.

No wonder his friend and boss wanted his girl watched.

And that's exactly what he did. He sat, he kept an eye out for the easily distracted beauty, and he helped Jason make sure that she was always safe. In the afternoon, when she closed the shop down to go home, first, usually running errands, he would pass the baton of guarding her over to Johnny, and the two of them would tip their heads towards each other in recognition as their cars passed slowly by in the street, the Irishman started his shift and Ritchie ended his, going home to get some shut eye before taking his usual third shift position outside of Mr. Corinthos' door.

Some of the guys hated stakeout jobs. They said they were boring, that they got sick of sitting in a car all goddamned day long, but he was prepared for such trivial complaints. He had a collection of CD's that could rival a music store's and more pirated movies than even the most flagrant copyright violator could claim to own. If he got tired of listening to music, he'd get out his portable DVD player and watch the latest film that had been released. In essence, for him, being on a stakeout was like getting paid for hanging out in a car, catching up on the pop culture's latest phenomena.

In fact, at that particular moment, he was trying to decide between comedy or action, trying to figure out just what exactly he was in the mood to watch that day. While debating between the merits of getting to laugh his ass off and getting to watch things get blown up, he observed a new customer enter the art supply store, so he turned up his radio, listening in on Miss Webber's conversation with her patron while, at the same time, still trying to make up his damn, indecisive mind. Not only was he doing his job, but, if they happened to discuss something of interest to him, he'd be able to hear it clearly.

"Can I help you?"

"No, not really," a very smooth, very classy, almost too smooth, too classy voice responded. Ritchie grimaced to himself. He could practically hear the man's self-satisfied and totally insincere smile in his voice. "I'm just looking around, taking in what the neighborhood has to offer. I'm new in town, and, instead of sitting around my office during my lunch break, I thought I'd do a little exploring. This is a charming place you have here. Are you an artist yourself?"

"I dabble for fun," the brunette owner replied. He thought she sounded kind but yet not 

inviting towards or impressed by the stranger. It made him slightly proud of her wariness, and he felt bad for always thinking that she was too trusting. "And you," she asked the man politely, making small talk. "What do you do?"

"I'm in insurance."

Ritchie merely rolled his eyes. "What a fucking schmuck," he said to himself.

"Oh, I apologize," the customer kept talking. "My name is Richard Lansing. And yours is…"

"Elizabeth," his charge replied. The guard felt a surge of pride go through him when she withheld her last name, but he grimaced at the thought of the man introducing himself to Jason's girl, of the stranger holding out his hand to shake Miss Webber's, of the kissass holding her hand in his just a little longer than was either required or polite, and, though he didn't have a camera in the shop, just a bug to listen in on, he knew that everything he was imagining occurring between the young woman and her patron was actually happening. Because he knew the type of guy Richard Lansing was just by seeing him once, and he knew that he was someone he was going to have to watch out for. If he saw him again, he'd even warn Jason about his presence in the pretty artist's life.

"A Dick." Hitting the steering wheel in frustration, he cured, "shit. Just when I thought this gig couldn't get any easier, trouble comes swaggering in."

He had always hated men named Dick, because they inevitably seemed to live up to their monikers, and he knew, knew with absolute certainty, that Richard Lansing, CPA, would not be an exception to the rule.


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: This was DEFINITELY not where I anticipated this next chapter going, but the prompts, quite obviously, have a mind of their own, and, what they dictate, I must follow. So, like a sheep to slaughter, here I am, uprooting my plans and, in their place, inserting what should only come as a surprising chapter to you, my readers. Hopefully you enjoy the unexpected. :)_

Charlynn

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
FF#283: Write a unique way for Jason to propose to Elizabeth.**

He was in a suit.

He was in a suit and dress shoes.

He was in a suit, dress shoes, and sitting in a Quartermaine owned restaurant.

He was in a suit, dress shoes, and sitting in a Quartermaine owned restaurant across from what very well could have been the most judgmental, insufferable, closed minded woman he had ever met. In essence, Jason Morgan was miserable.

And the icing on the cake was that he had to pretend otherwise. He had to make as if he actually liked his _date_, fully aware of the fact that, if they didn't pull their little stunt off, he could be placing Elizabeth's life in danger, and that was not something he was prepared to do, no matter what the cost. Seeing as how he was sharing a meal with Alexis Davis, real estate attorney extraordinaire, the costs were extremely high, too.

So far, they had discussed everything under the sun but their personal lives or the one connection they shared with each other. Drinks at the bar had been highlighted by a rather hostile conversation about Greece, her homeland and a country he had visited by choice on several occasions. With their appetizers, they had moved on to debating politics, a stupid decision seeing as how the woman believed herself always to be right and thought of him as evil incarnated into the shape of a man. Even though Jason had realized that they shared many similar viewpoints, the lawyer would immediately either change her stance upon something simply to disagree with him or talk herself into such complicated circles, it was impossible to tell which side of an issue she stood upon. It had been exhausting, and the water he had been drinking had done little to distract him from the fact.

Once their entrees were served, though, thankfully they veered away from such serious dialogue and settled into a far less aggressive discussion on boxing of all things. Alexis had surprised him when admitting that she had recently become a fan of the sport, and, seeing as how he had been sparring at the local gyms since he was a teenager, Jason had knowledge to spare on the subject. But that still didn't mean that the attorney hadn't found reasons to belittle him, to pronounce him lacking of too many desirable qualities to even think about counting all of them, and to toss into their conversations little daggers of insult aimed directly towards his conscious and pride. Apparently, while he had an agenda that evening, convincing those in his world that he was interested in the older brunette rather than her younger, more artistic, and definitely less acerbic friend, so did she. By the time they reached the dessert portion of their long and torturous meal, the heir to the Port Charles crime syndicate knew that his _date _was going to do everything in her power to convince him to stay away from Elizabeth.



Unfortunately for the lawyer, that would only happen over his dead body.

Their plates of mint cheesecake had just been placed before them, the waiter scurrying off to hide as far away from the bickering couple as he could manage, when there was a decided shift in the atmosphere surrounding them. Alexis had only taken one bite of her dessert before sitting her silver fork down silently on the expensive, delicate china, and, although Jason had no intentions of eating his own piece of cheesecake, determined to have it wrapped up for Elizabeth to enjoy later, he pushed the plate aside, willing to offer the woman before him his complete attention. By the look on her face, he could tell that she was dispelling of the bitterness she felt towards him momentarily in an effort to discuss something serious, and he would offer her the common courtesy and respect to meet her halfway.

"I'm just going to come out and say what I've wanted to ask you all night but haven't either had the courage to do so or the lack of common sense."

"I would appreciate it," the blonde returned solemnly. "If we both get our cards out on the table, now, then that will save us a lot of hassle in the future."

"For the first time this evening, I couldn't agree you with more."

He wanted to dispute her claim, to point out the fact that there had been many times that evening she had agreed with him but that she had been too arrogant to admit it, but he let the opportunity slide. Antagonizing Alexis Davis would get him nowhere productive.

"You and Elizabeth have been…," the attorney lowered her voice, her sharp, brown eyes narrowing in his direction, "associated with each other for several months, now, and I need to know what you want from her."

"Excuse me?"

She snapped back at him. "Oh, don't be coy with me, Morgan. You know very well what I mean. Where is all this," she gestured between them, "going? What is the long term goal of this entire ruse? Basically," the older woman sighed, sounding tired and slightly apprehensive for the first time since their _date _had started hours before. "What are your intentions towards my best friend?"

He couldn't help it – his eyes went wide, first with shock and then with realization. It was as if he was standing before Elizabeth's parents, asking their permission to date their daughter, and getting the very old fashioned form of third degree. But, despite his awkwardness, and despite his less than favorable opinion of the woman sitting across from him, the mobster knew that Alexis sincerely cared about Elizabeth, that she was doing what she felt was necessary to protect her friend, and that she was just trying to take care of her, and that knowledge made him feel compelled to answer her truthfully.

"I don't believe in psychics or fortune tellers or even signs," Jason finally started his 

explanation, choosing his words very carefully as he went along, recognizing that he was on shaky ground with the attorney and wanting to do just one thing right that evening. He took it as a good indication when she sat back, folded her arms over her chest, and prepared herself to actually listen to what he had to say.

"So, I can't tell you what the future is going to hold for any of us. However, I can tell you what I feel now. I _like _Elizabeth; I like her a lot. She listens to me and allows me to return the favor. When I'm in a terrible mood, she can make me laugh. She makes me want to do anything within my power to make her smile, even if it takes me doing something that I'm normally uncomfortable with. I feel better about myself when I'm around her, and I can only hope that she feels the same way when she's near me. She's just not my friend. She's more than that, more than I could ever find a word to describe."

Alexis' brow furrowed in contemplation, her gaze dropping to the napkin resting gently in her lap. When she picked her eyes back up and looked at him, once again, she calmly stated, "you're in love with her," and before he had a chance to respond, she held up a hand to stop him. "She doesn't tell me much about your relationship, because she knows that I don't approve of her association with you, Mr. Morgan, but Elizabeth is not very good at hiding her emotions from the people who truly know her, so I can see that she cares very deeply for you as well. Now, I'm not going to say that she loves you, too, because that is something only she can admit to and make it real, but, for argument's sake, let's say that she is in love with you. What then?"

Holding up one hand, the lawyer presented the first option. "Will the two of you start dating in secret, hiding your romance to protect her from both your friends and your enemies, essentially denying what you feel for one another in public? Or," she lifted her second hand, "will you continue as you are today, as merely affable acquaintances, keeping your heart safe and breaking hers in the process?"

"In an ideal world, I would be free to live and love as I see fit."

"But this isn't an ideal world, Jason. You know this, I know this, and," Alexis pointed out, "Elizabeth knows this as well. So, what are you doing to do about it?"

Without thinking, he responded, "I want out." Balling his hands into fists below the tablecloth, the younger man stated vehemently, "Before I tell Elizabeth how I feel, before I ask her to be more than just my friend, I want out of this life I've been forced into. And I'm working on doing just that. That's why you and I are here tonight, pretending to be dating one another, and that's why I haven't even so much as kissed Elizabeth yet. When I go to her, I want to be someone who deserves her, someone who can offer her more than just a life as some mobster's moll. I want to offer her safety and security, love and a home, a future."

The attorney smiled as if she had just won a case in front of the Supreme Court. "You want to marry her."



/ / /

Oh, he was a very bad Jackal.

Very, very bad.

How was he to know that the Fair, Law Abiding One would cross examine the Enviously Perfectly Proportioned Stone Cold One on their first _date_ into confessing his deepest, darkest desires… onto tape? He certainly hadn't intended to play a role into tricking Jason Morgan, of all men, into proposing onto a recording device. When he had slipped a bug into the Intoxicatingly Intimidating Lawyer's purse, he had simply been inspired by his best friend's tale of her angel tracking device, and, wanting to one up the mob, which, in and of itself, Spinelli had to admit was a very bad idea, he had planted a similar gadget so he could listen in on what he was affectionately terming the date to end all dates.

He told himself it was to ensure the Elegant Elizabeth's friend's safety. He told himself it was just a precaution, something any man who believed himself to be the Assassin of Cyberspace would do. After all, he had a reputation to live up to, and he couldn't allow such things as cement shoes and his fear of fish to stand in his way.

But he had never expected to hear his best friend's mobular suitor admit to wanting to join in holy matrimony with his lady fair, and, now that he had, now that he also had such a powerful, potentially life ending confession on tape, he had no idea what to do with it.

His only option, Spinelli felt, was to come clean to the very person who would be able to grant him, through seduction of the Stone Cold One, absolution.

Knocking on the Lovely Legal Eagle's door, for he knew that his best friend was hiding away there, her angel tracking device cleverly stationed at her brother's apartment for the evening, he waited for Elizabeth to surreptitiously answer. He had used the secret knock, a sort of Morse code made with his knuckles upon the wooden structure baring him passage into the protective sanctuary the apartment before him offered, and he hoped that she understood his furtive measures.

The door swinging open served as the only answer he needed. Without granting the Elegant Elizabeth a chance to greet him, the Jackal rushed to confess, "Beloved and Trusted Confidant, there is something of the most unanticipated and astounding in nature that you must hear."


	24. Chapter 24

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
FF#284: The eyes are open, the mouth moves, but Mister Brain is long since departed.**

If nothing else, Francis liked to pride himself on being a good friend. He was loyal, kind, and respectful. They were the three most important traits his mother had drilled into him growing up, and, even though he lived in a rough world, he still tried to remember such things as manners and simple human decency when he could. So, that's why he was sitting alone at the bar without having ordered anything, despite the fact that he had been there and had been waiting for Johnny O'Brien, someone who didn't believe in such trivial things, for almost a half an hour.

After the first several attempts at conversation, the bartender caught on and started to leave him alone, something Francis was grateful for. His decision to meet his coworker in the dive establishment had ended up being one of fortune. Originally, he had picked Jake's for its obscurity, knowing that neither Mr. Corinthos nor Doctor Morgan would ever voluntarily step foot in the tavern, but, when he had ambled into the dimly lit room and found that the elder and junior Spencers were in attendance that evening as well, his choice of necessity became one of chance, and he certainly wasn't going to let the opportunity slide. So, with a clear head free of alcohol, with the privacy the bartender keeping his distance afforded him, and with the peace and quiet not sitting beside Johnny O'Brien brought him, the senior guard was given the perfect chance to observe two of the many individuals he feared his friend Jason had to watch out for.

And they looked damn suspicious, too.

The door to his right swung open with a bravado so familiar to him he knew that the latest arrival to the bar could only be his partner. After all, Johnny O'Brien did nothing quietly or somberly. He was loud, brass, and bright, just like the neon beer signs littering Jake's, and the two of them – Johnny and the signs - shared a similar level of class and decorum. But Francis knew that the younger man's antics were just a part of his odd charm, and, despite their many vast differences, they got along well. With no family left of his own, Johnny O'Brien was the second closest friend he had in the world, only falling behind Jason.

However, that didn't mean that he was going to allow the big oaf to wander in and scare off Drunk and Dumber. The more Luke Spencer drank, the louder he talked, and, the louder his father shouted, the shriller Lucky Spencer became… as if in some sort of unspoken competition with his old man to see which one of them could make the bigger fool out of themselves. If he wasn't so worried that their stupidity could cause problems for himself, Jason, and the other men, Francis would have found their performance quiet amusing. With thoughts of remaining in the shadows, though, he met his friend's already dopey grin, silencing him and deleting his broad smile with only a single, communicative glance.

Luckily, he and O'Brien had long since perfected their ability to converse in silence, so the 

Irishman made his way to the bar without drawing attention to himself. Taking the seat directly next to Francis', he dismissed the bartender with just a quick flick of his wrist, and, while keeping his back to the rest of the grimy establishment, asked in a tense whisper, "what the hell is going on? I thought we were coming here tonight to unwind. When did 'meet me at Jake's for a beer' suddenly turn into code for let's spend our free time on an unpaid, optional stakeout? And, speaking of which, what the hell, or, more precisely, who the hell are we even watching?"

"The Spencers," the older Corinthos-Morgan employee stated softly, nodding his head in the direction of the tavern's murkiest corner for his friend to turn and look. "They've been here longer than I have, and I've been waiting for your late ass for thirty minutes, and let's just say that they haven't been as controlled in their actions as I have been."

"So they're drunk?"

"Wow, Johnny, nothing gets by you."

His friend glared, his brown eyes threatening revenge for the derision later once they were in the clear to mess around and hit one another without detection, but his restraint didn't stop him from uttering, "shut the fuck up, Corelli. I've had a shitty day, and I don't need any smartass comments from you."

"What happened?"

"Nothing that I couldn't handle."

"O'Brien," Francis warned, his tone changing from that of a curious friend to a concerned supervisor.

"Alright, alright," the younger man agreed to confide in him. "Corinthos got some bug up his ass this today, demanding Ritchie to be his morning guard instead of Adam. Supposedly, he's reassigning Adam, giving him a promotion, and, until we can get in someone new to replace him, he wants Ritchie to step in temporarily."

"But that left Miss Webber open and vulnerable."

"No shit, Sherlock," Johnny exclaimed in a hushed tone. "That's why I had such a shitty day. With no one who could cover without notice, I had to take a double shift guarding Miss Webber. So, I was out of town last night on that errand you sent me on, and, then, I worked for sixteen hours straight today in a damn car. My ass hurts, and I haven't slept in almost 48 hours. And, now, because the shit for brains Spencers are here, I can't get fucked up either like I had planned on doing."

"You live a hard life, O'Brien."

"You better fuckin' believe it," the younger guard remarked seriously.  


"You're such a dumb piece of shit," Francis teased him, snickering. "I was making fun of you."

"Sorry, buddy," Johnny denied him. "I'm just too damn tired for sarcasm right now.

"Then go home. I can handle these two," the older of the two men offered, jerking his thumb in Luke and Lucky's general direction. "Get some sleep, and I'll call you in the morning. I've been thinking about Jason's situation a lot lately, and I think I may have a solution. I want to run it by you, though, first before I say anything to him."

"Sounds good," the Irishman agreed, slapping his friend good-naturedly on the back. "But if you call me before ten o'clock, I'm going to kick your ass."

"Duly noted."

He watched the lanky bodyguard leave the bar, exiting the establishment much more discretely than he had entered, before turning back to the drunken slobs before him. It was a bad sign in their business when men couldn't hold their liquor. While it was expected of you to drink and, oftentimes, at copious amounts, if you couldn't control yourself while inebriated, you were often taken care of before you could become a liability. Sloppy drunks spoke too freely, acted too rashly, and it made Francis wonder just how the senior Spencer had managed to stay alive for such a long time. However, despite his unusually good luck, the senior guard had to smirk. If he had anything to say about it, the last word that anyone would soon use to describe either father or son would be _lucky_.

/ / /

"Where exactly are we?"

Alan turned, facing his guest - if the other man beside him could be called such a thing, but remained quiet.

"Listen, Doctor, I don't like to be summoned and especially not out into the middle of nowhere. Do you realize how many times I had to turn around and start again to actually find this place."

"Why else do you think I picked it," the older man snapped, glaring at his hired employee. "And I do not care about your inconveniences. I'm paying you to do as I tell you to do, no questions asked. If you can't manage that, then maybe you're not the right guy for this project."

"Don't threaten me, Morgan," Ric warned him, taking a menacing step forward towards the private physician, "because you won't like the results."

"If you knew me well enough, Mr. Lansing, you would know that I don't make idyll threats. However, promises on the other hand…"  


"I think you've made your position quite clear."

"Now, tell me," Alan instructed him, ignoring the other man's little display of temper. "How is your little mission coming along?"

"I've made contact, presented myself as your run-of-the-mill accountant, new in town and eager to make some new friends in the art community."

The doctor snapped, "that's it?"

"What the hell do you want me to do, come on too strong, scare her off, and blow my whole fucking cover? I promised you results, old man, but I never said they'd be immediate. What I have planned is going to take time. First, I'm going to have win over her trust, because, despite the fact that she's fronting herself as just your average twenty-something year old, she's skittish. I made her nervous, and I only lingered in her store for ten minutes or so. Once I have her trust which could take months, then I'll be able to start using her for your agenda which is exactly what you hired me to do, is it not?"

"It is," the doctor agreed, "but what if I was wrong? My son was seen out on the town tonight on a very public date with Alexis Davis."

"Who just so happens to be Elizabeth Webber's best friend," Ric argued. "I'm still not buying that your kid is interested in the lawyer, but, if he is, as long as I get close to Elizabeth, she'll still be able to do your dirty work for you. Once I'm in good with her, I'll get the whole entourage – the attorney, the computer geek next door, Miss Webber's brother and his girlfriend, and, most importantly, you'll have your son on a silver platter, ready to exploit and use to your non-existent heart's content. And I mean that," the younger man added with a malicious smirk, "as my sincerest form of flattery. I think we're pretty much one in the same, Alan," his employee stated, using his first name despite not being instructed or formally invited to do so.

Pivoting around on his heel, the physician walked away from the secluded bridge and headed back to his parked and waiting car, never once addressing the other man's comments. Instead, he was too focused on the chill Ric's words that late evening had brought to his spine, for he knew that playing with Lansing could be his eventual, inevitable downfall. After all, every man in their business ultimately had one – a disgrace, a defeat, but, then and there, he decided he'd rather go out fighting with all guns blazing than to look back with regret and second guess his decisions. He just hoped that, in the meantime, he didn't lose his edge, because, if he did, Ric Lansing wouldn't hesitant even for a moment to claim that misplaced edge for himself and then stick it in Alan's back.

/ / /

"So," Luke Spencer drawled out, lifting his bottle of scotch high in the air in a mock salute. "What are we celebrating tonight, son?"



"We're celebrating the fact that I have Corinthos exactly where I want him," the younger of the two men revealed. He attempted to smile, but the liquor coursing its way through his body made the gesture nearly impossible, and he just sort of gaped instead. "I charmed and I complimented him into giving me a position at his casino down in Puerto Rico. There's limited security there, and, because I'll be in charge of the entire hotel, I'll have unlimited access to everything the place has to offer.

"Beer, booze, and bitches," the graying man cheered.

"Among other things."

"I didn't realize anything else mattered to you, Cowboy."

"Every computer in the Corinthos-Morgan empire is connected to all the others. Through their network, I'll be able to access all the business files – legal and otherwise. I can get inside, copy them, change some things around, and, in general, take control of the money while, the whole time, nobody will suspect a thing, because I have clearance to do so but absolutely no supervision to prevent me from wandering into places I'm not supposed to be as the manager of the casino."

"How long do you think this little… operation of yours is going to take?"

"In six months time, I'll be able to move around and hide enough money so that the two of us can live life high on the hog for the next one hundred and fifty years… just in case modern medicine continues to develop at its current alarming rate. If you give me a year," Lucky bargained with his father, "I can crush the Corinthos-Morgan empire, giving us enough capital to take over the territory in the wake of its destruction."

"You make a father proud, son," the elder Spencer praised his only child.

Launching into a fit of self-congratulations and very vocal exclamations of future domination, neither Luke nor Lucky noticed the smirking guard at the bar, the guard who had just overheard their entire conversation.


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: You're probably wondering why I'm posting on this story again so soon. No, I wasn't struck by a sudden burst of inspiration. Rather, some unforeseen circumstances have appeared, and my goal is to finish this story in a hurry. So, with that in mind, I'll be posting non-stop on this fic for, at least, the next week or so until it's finished. Trust me, I don't like this decision either, but, in the end, selfishly, it's what will be the best for me. Also, obviously, because of this time frame, this story is going to dramatically pick up pace. Originally, I had planned to make this a very intricate, very drawn out, very detailed story, but plans are made to be broken. Hopefully, it'll still be entertaining and cohesive. Thanks for understanding!_

Charlynn

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
FF#285: A day late and a dollar short.**

"This is completely ridiculous," Alexis huffed under her breath, her exertion blowing out her rather long, distracting bangs. In a hushed tone, she continued, unlocking her apartment's door at the same time. "Anyone who knows me, my friends, my colleagues, hell, even the man on the street corner that I buy my bagel from every morning, is well aware of the fact that I would never invite a man back to my apartment after the first date."

He wanted to retort smartly. He wanted to ask her if she had ever even been on a first date, and, if so, had it even progressed far enough for either parties involved to want to consider going back to her place, but he restrained himself. After all, in her own frustrating way, the attorney was helping him, and, if he had to play along with her vocal tirades in order to see Elizabeth, in order to protect Elizabeth, then he would. So, instead of mocking her, he calmly stated, "but you have to remember that, to the rest of the world, this isn't our first date. We've known and been seeing each other for several weeks now."

"If I concede you that point, then we'll be right back to where we started from and the fact that neither of us are, in the slightest way, attracted to one another."

Muttering under his breath, his eyes cast to the floor while his hand attempted, in vain, to pinch away some of the tension building along his sinuses, Jason remarked, "and there such things as small miracles."

The door finally popped open, revealing a pinch black interior, but, still, his _date _remained out in the hall beside where he was standing. "For what very well may be the first and probably the last time in our unfortunate association, I just so happen to agree with you, Mr. Morgan."

And, with that, the wordy brunette stepped forward, attempting and failing to slam the door in his face. But the action was only par for the course as far as their evening together was concerned. She had stepped on his feet repeatedly through the night, kicked him under the table as they dined, endeavored to shut his fingers in the car door, and managed to almost trip him while they were getting on the elevator to come up to her flat. Although he would never question the older woman, he had a feeling Alexis Davis had been an unpopular child growing up.

"Why is your apartment this dark," he, instead, asked. "What, did you forget to pay your electric bill on time, or did you stiff them by sending a short payment?"

"I do believe such bourgeoisie behavior would be more your style and not mine."

"I turned off all the lights so that no one would suspect that I… or, well, we were here."



Jason didn't need the sudden illumination that came from the flip of a switch as Elizabeth bathed the startlingly cluttered living room in a muted, amber light to know who had just, surprisingly, spoken. However, he certainly had not been expecting her to be sitting in the dark with one Mr. Damien Spinelli. Perhaps foolishly, he had hoped his association with the grass enthusiast had been completed.

"Elizabeth," Alexis finally gasped out. Glancing in her direction, the mob heir noticed the lawyer clutching her chest as if she had been frightened. Her next words proved his surmise. "Do. Not. Do. That. To. Me. Again."

"Forgive our Beloved and Trusted Confidant, Lady Legal Eagle, but she was just endeavoring to be stealth."

"And you? What are you doing in my home?"

"I… uh…," Spinelli fumbled with his words, glancing nervously back and forth between the other three adults in the room. "The Jackal just wished to inform the Elegant Elizabeth of a most fascinating yet worrisome piece of news that he, um, managed to gather in a rather unorthodox fashion. For you see," the book store owner continued to ramble, finding his rhythm as he toyed endlessly with his always disheveled hair, "when I heard of the oh-so-deceptive holy honing device, I felt as if my - The Assassin of Cyberspace's expertise had been challenged, so I set about to… mimic The Malevolent Medicinal One's tactics and decided to slip my own…"

"Jason," Elizabeth, mercifully, interrupted her friend's blathering. "Can we… I need to speak to you." She paused, meeting the interested attorney's gaze from across the room. "In private."

"Yeah, of course."

Prompting the older woman, she said, "Alexis."

"Right. Come on Oh Incoherent One," his _date _waved for Spinelli to follow her. "We'll watch TV in my room while these two sort out whatever it is they need to sort out. It could take a while, so I hope you're up to date on all your vaccinations."

"I am immunized to the max, but, routine visits to the pediatrician aside, The Jackal does not feel comfortable stepping inside of the Fair, Law Abiding One's hallowed, personal chambers. It is a place he has not walked before and would prefer to…"

"Damien," Elizabeth once again interjected, stopping the young adult in his verbal tracks. "Please. You started this whole mess, and, now, I need to finish it." That made Jason pause, but he did not have a chance to contemplate the brunette's words before she was speaking again, this time in a much softer tone. "Besides, Alexis has quite the collection of mysteries on film, a lot of the classics, and I'm sure she'll let you watch one as long as you sit on the floor, manage to not touch anything, and stay as quiet as you can."  


"I shall not disappoint you," the nerd promised, bowing slightly before backing out of the room, finally leaving him alone with Elizabeth.

"So," Jason started, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks if only to prevent himself from reaching out and touching the woman before him. "What did you need to talk about?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, and I'm not going to protect Spinelli, but you have to promise me that you won't hurt him."

Taken aback by what the painter had said, he backtracked slightly, sliding down to sit on Alexis' couch. "Elizabeth, what's going on?"

"Please, just promise me."

"Alright, I won't hurt the kid."

"Okay then," she agreed, taking a seat directly beside him. Angling her legs in his direction, the future heir to the Corinthos-Morgan empire was startled when the brunette reached out and took his hands and held them in her own. "Spinelli slipped a recording device into Alexis' purse tonight, so he could listen in on your date, and, before you say anything," she stopped the words from even forming on his lips, "yes, he had me listen."

Collapsing, Jason let go of her hands, running his own fingers through his hair. "What exactly did you hear?"

"A lot," Elizabeth confessed. He could feel her watching him, but he refused to meet her gaze. "I heard my best friend reading you the riot act over the fact that you liked your visits to Greece. I listened to the tape as she conveniently flipped sides on just about every political issue that she holds practically sacred tonight simply because you happened to agree with her original stance, and I listened as you calmly, patiently even talked to her about boxing."

"And…"

"And," the artist continued, taking a deep breath, "Spinelli played the part of the tape for me where Alexis questioned you about your intentions towards me."

Jason sighed. "His recording device didn't somehow managed to hit a glitch at that point, did it?"

In a whispered voice, she responded, "no."

Swearing harshly, the blonde stood up and began to pace the length of the room. "Fuck!"



"But is it really such a bad thing that I heard you admit that you're… in love with me, Jason?" Her words had him pausing, relaxing, almost hoping, but, still, he didn't turn around. "Because, as Alexis told you, I'm in love with you, too. And all those things you said tonight to her about wanting to protect me, about wanting to make sure that your life is safe for me before asking me to be with you, about wanting a future together, they were all beautiful."

Slowly, he risked pivoting around and looking at the most unique, most accepting, most captivating woman he had ever managed to meet in all his twenty-some years. He found her smiling demurely in his direction. "So, what now, because I'd really like to kiss you, but, when I do that for the first time, your best friends are not going to have their eyes glued to a keyhole watching us."

"Well," Elizabeth suggested, crooking her finger in his direction and motioning for him to come closer. Obediently, gratefully, he obliged. "I think," she started, only to pause in order to wrap her arms around his neck, effectively pulling her own lithe body in close contact with his ever warming, every pulsating form. Languidly, she ran her skillful fingers through the long ends of hair at the nape of his neck, scratching his scalp lightly. With her lips just a breath away from his jaw, she continued, "you need to figure out a plan, and you need to do it right away."

"I can manage that." His breathing was rough and ragged, his voice husky and muted, almost unrecognizable to his own ears. "And about that kiss?"

"Hm, well, I think I'll surprise you with it, Morgan," the woman in his arms teased, her laughter rumbling through her chest, making it brush even more intimately against his own. "When you least expect it, there I'll be, and you better be ready and waiting."

"Oh, I'll be ready, but you better not keep me waiting that long."

Effectively separating their forms, Elizabeth pulled back, winking up at him. "We'll see."

Realizing the moment was over, the expected future crime boss turned towards the closed bedroom door on the other side of the room. "Alright you two," he addressed Alexis and Spinelli. "You can come out now."

"Thank god," the attorney breathed out, shoving her way past the scampering book store owner. "Your friend," she informed the petite brunette, "smells."

"Like pot," Jason added helpfully. "Listen, right here, right now," he told them, not allowing for anymore small talk. "I need to know if you're willing to help me." Amending his words and reaching for Elizabeth's hand to hold in his, he altered his previous statement. "I need to know if you're willing to help us."

"I'm already in this deep," the lawyer rolled her eyes, shrugging her shoulders pessimistically, "so why not continue to bait the mob?"  


He accepted her sarcasm for agreement. "And you," he regarded the nerd in the plaid shorts despite the fact that it was barely twenty degrees outside.

"I shall not back down or cower at the face of danger or imminent death. You have The Jackal's solemn vow that he will fight for his Faithful Friend until his last breath has been extinguished, until the last beat of his life's blood has flowed tragically through his wasted corpse and out of a severed limb, until his…"

"And count Patrick and Carly in as well," Elizabeth added, silencing the younger man with a thankful smile. Facing Jason, she nodded her head just once. "We can do this – together."

And they would.


	26. Chapter 26

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
FF#260: Shower of Fire**

Leaning against the tiled wall of his shower, Jason simply stood there, frozen in motion despite the heat of the water raining down upon his overburdened form. He didn't feel the sting of the spray, though, for it had long since numbed his skin against feeling anything. The water was too hot, scalding in fact. It left harsh, bright red splotches on his usually naturally tan body, but, if he had it his way, he'd make it even hotter. He felt so dirty, no shower would ever be able to clean him; he felt so tainted, no fire would ever be able to redeem him. And, despite everything, he didn't regret a single decision he had made. They were all for the best.

However, that did not mean that he rejoiced in their depravity, and he certainly wasn't looking forward to the task of telling the woman he loved just how exactly he was planning to _negotiate _their freedom. He knew that Elizabeth deserved better things in life than what he could offer her – lies, deceit, betrayal, but, at the same time, he needed her with him whether it was right or wrong. At that point, she was his salvation. It was because of her that he was doing what he was doing. Though his desire to be with the petite artist was purely selfish, the actions that desire inspired were anything but. And that was the very thing that gave him hope that, someday, he would be worthy of her.

Reaching blindly for his bottle of shampoo, the action rote and practically unaware, Jason went about the routine of washing his hair, never once opening his eyes. Sight was pointless in the moment, and he liked the feeling of existing in the dark, at least when he was alone, for, if he didn't have to see what was around him, then he didn't quite have to face the truth, and the truth was that he was about to play judge and juror with several people's lives, deciding who deserved to live and who deserved or, in certain cases, had to die. In essence, he was placing more importance upon his own existence, excusing his behavior by telling himself that, in the end, it was all crucial and required.

Surprisingly, their plan was rather quite straightforward. Quite simply, there were too many players vying for control of the Corinthos-Morgan empire at the moment, and, as long as Jason and his men stood back, with a little bit of manipulation, all the other men would slowly pick each other off, eliminating his competition without Jason having to lift a single finger. Despite the fact that he wouldn't actually be holding an actual weapon or using it to murder anyone, he knew that the others' blood would still be on his hands, the same hands that he planned on using to make love to Elizabeth, the same hands he one day hoped would wear her ring, the same hands that, if all his plans went accordingly, would someday hold their children. The thought made him sick to his stomach, and he had to pause in his actions of rinsing out his hair to catch his ragged breath.

Johnny had used football to describe the plot, likening it to college tournament sports and how a lower ranked, underdog team can sit back and watch its higher ranked opponents slowly pick each other off, allowing it to move forward and seize control without anyone 

really noticing. Though the analogy made sense, it had felt too tame in comparison with the coup d'état they were organizing. Apparently, Francis had agreed as well and, during their meeting, had spent forty-five minutes arguing with the Irishman about the assessment. He had contended that it was more like a den of male lions fighting over one female. He had claimed that the smart cat, the one who would eventually win both control over the others and his mate of choice, would slink in the background, doing nothing while his adversaries destroyed one another. It had taken a call down to Milo's to book the ring for the two bickering friends in order for them to set aside their argument and press on with making plans.

While he was showering, his friends were at the gym, yelling, cheering, laughing on Johnny and Francis, but he had no yearning to be there with them. They had too much fighting coming up as it was; he didn't need to see two of the men he was closest with in life scrapping, even if playfully, with each other. Instead, he was planning on calling and talking to Elizabeth once he had finished showering, but, the more he thought about telling her of his plans, the longer he remained under the burning shower spray.

In actuality, though his conscious was having a hard time accepting the fact that it would be on his orders that several men would die, getting rid of Sonny, and the Spencers, and even his own father would be the easiest portion of the plan. It was what would come afterwards that would be the most difficult. It had been agreed that the territory would transfer to Francis' hands with Johnny stepping up into the position of enforcer, but, in order for their surrounding rivals and associates to believe and accept such a move, it would have to appear as if Jason was dead, that Francis, despite being his best friend, had murdered him all in the name of power. He would fake his death, leaving behind Port Charles for good to start over fresh somewhere new, and he hoped that, when he crossed over the town limit's line, Elizabeth would be at his side.

But if she chose not to accompany him, he would understand completely. After all, unlike him, she had family in Port Charles that she actually cared about. She had a business, friends, and a life completely separate of the relationship they had been stalling to start for one various reason or another now for months. He didn't expect her to drop everything, to change her identity and become someone new simply because some guy who had given her a hard time when she was eighteen over her identification card and proceeded, from that point on, to later fall in love with her had asked her to, but, nevertheless, he hoped she would anyway.

If she did, their life together wouldn't be easy. He was refusing to take any of the dirty money he had been given over the years because of his father's and his mentor's choice of occupations. In fact, the only cash that would be deposited in the over shores account belonging to his new identity would be the profits he would make from selling a small piece of property he owned, property that had been gifted to him from his grandmother after his death when he turned eighteen. It was a secret he had kept from everyone, including his father, and it was the only possession from his past that he would allow to affect his future.

The water slowly chilling revived him from his distracting thoughts, and Jason moved to turn 

the shower off. Stepping out and onto the heated tile of the penthouse's master bedroom, he distractedly reached for a pair of sweatpants, pulling them on without drying his body. Satisfied, he forewent shaving or brushing out his hair, instead, leaving the ensuite and slipping under the covers of his bed. The sheets were cool against his fiery skin, and he could feel the warmth bleed away from his body as the simple, utilitarian bedding soaked up the heat. He didn't care that his wet hair was soaking his pillowcase, and he didn't care that he was planning on going to sleep in the middle of the afternoon. After a restless night the day before and a morning of intense, emotionally draining planning, he felt as if he could sleep for a week, something he had never experienced before.

Reaching for the phone, he didn't bother to even look at the device. Rather, he could dial Elizabeth without thought, without realization sometimes. She picked up, breathless, during the first ring.

"So?"

And despite himself, for the first time since he had said goodnight to her the previous evening at Alexis' apartment, Jason smiled. He found the fact that she didn't bother with pleasantries or greetings in that instance to be endearing. He was reassured by the fact that she was just as nervous, just as anxious, just as invested in what he had to tell her as he was. And he was immediately comforted by the sound of her soft, feminine voice.

"I, uh, I can't tell you everything," he started only to have the woman he loved interrupt him.

"That's okay," the painter dismissed his unvoiced apology. "To be honest, I really don't want to know the details. I only want you to tell me what you think I need to know and what you need me to hear. I trust you, Jason. If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to feel the way I do about you."

Needing to hear her say it once again, he huskily asked, "and how's that?"

Without preamble, without any signs of embarrassment in her voice, the twenty-three year old stated confidently, "I'm in love with you."

Jason sighed, reclining back so that he was lying down in his bed, the sound of Elizabeth's voice his only company in the large, dark room. "You have no idea how much I need to hear you say that. I love you, too, but this – how we feel about each other – does not mean that you have to do this with me."

"Do what?"

"Some things, some necessary but horrific things, are about to take place around me, things that may make you take back what you just said, and, if you do, if what I do in the next few weeks makes you change your mind…"



"That's not going to happen," she interjected, cutting him off.

"Please," he asked of her in a strangled voice. "Please just let me say this, okay?"

Her silence was the only permission he needed to continue. "If you change your mind and don't want to be with me anymore, I'll understand. In fact, I'll be surprised if you don't change your mind, but, when everything's said and done, and I'm free, know that I want you to come with me."

"Where?"

"I can't tell you that, not because I don't want to but because, at this point, I'm not even sure myself," Jason confessed. "The guys and I, we still have some details to iron out, but the where's not important right now; it's the who and the how that are. When I leave Port Charles, I'll never be coming back, Elizabeth, because, when I go, I won't be Jason Morgan anymore. Jason Morgan, as far as the rest of the world will be concerned, will be dead. I'm getting a whole new identity, a whole new life, and I won't lie to you. I want you there by my side, but I can't ask you to make that sacrifice."

After several seconds' thought, the artist murmured, "it wouldn't be a sacrifice."

"But you'd never see your brother again, you'd have to give up your store, and you'd be leaving behind Alexis and Spinelli and Milo and all your other…"

"But I'd be gaining you," she boldly asserted. "For the first time in my life, Jason, I'm in love, and I'm not about to give that up out of a fear of the unknown or a sentimentality for the present. Just as you said last night, I want to offer you safety and security, love and a home, a future… and a family, too. If it means leaving Port Charles to do that, then so be it."

"A family?"

He could practically hear Elizabeth biting her lip as she blushed prettily on the other line of the phone. Finally, she responded, "yeah, a family – you, me, a couple of kids. A family."

And, just like that, the flames that had been nipping at his heels all day, the flames of doubt, of insecurity, of guilt, disappeared and, in their place, remained the fertile ashes of hope and rebirth with the woman he loved.


	27. Chapter 27

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven  
FF#259: It's a magical night in the kingdom.**

Slowly smacking his lips together, he struggled to wake up. His senses felt dull, his knowledge of his surroundings practically non-existent, and his actions all seemed sluggish… almost as if he had been drugged. But that was impossible. While he might run a little side operation out from underneath Sonny's thumb of control, distributing prescription pharmaceuticals illegally on the street, Alan certainly didn't take any of the medications himself. As a doctor, he was well aware of just how addicting pain relievers and anti-depressants could be, and, despite the fact that he had renounced the Quartermaine name, their blood was still flowing through his veins, and his so called family was known for their easy susceptibility towards chemical dependency, and that was the last thing he needed.

A hard slap to the face, though, made some of the hazy clouds disappear. Opening his eyes, he came face to face with a grinning Ric Lansing. "That's it, Doc. Time to wake up. You and I, we need to have a little chat."

As he struggled to sit up in the bed, he became aware of the fact that he was handcuffed to the frame, his body doused in cheap liquor, but, at the same time, those realizations made little sense to his addled brain. The last thing he remembered was sitting at his desk in his penthouse, but he certainly wasn't there anymore, and the time frame between what had been and, currently, what was had him boggled. Obviously, the smirking man before him was responsible, but everything else – the how and, perhaps, more importantly, the why were both still a mystery to Alan.

"You're probably wondering what we're doing here, huh, _boss_?"

"Well, an explanation would certainly be appreciated… as would you letting me go."

Ric sighed, almost succeeding in sounding mournful but not quite. "I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, you and I, we've reached the end of the road, and, when everything is said and done, only one of us will be leaving here this evening."

"What the hell," the physician exploded, both in frustration and anger. "What do you mean this evening? I only just had breakfast a couple of hours ago. There's no way that…"

"That I could have slipped into your apartment this morning before you even woke up, drugged your food, and waited for you to pass out. Really, Doctor Morgan," the younger man taunted, "if you don't see how that is possible, then I'm not too sure you were ever really cut out for this lifestyle."

Seething but realizing he needed to cooperate, he asked, "what, or should I say how much, do you want? I can get you anything. Name your price. I have access to every single Corinthos-Morgan account. If you let me go, by morning, you could be a very rich man, Mr. 

Lansing."

"I'm already a rich man, and, as for you having access to all the accounts, well, that's a lie. You see, while you were sleeping, Doc, I took possession of every single file in your office. I made copies, I found bank account numbers, and I even compiled a list of every single contact you've ever made over the years. Then I proceeded to destroy your records, and put my copies of them someplace safe, someplace that you would never be able to find… even if you actually managed to escape today with your life intact which, just to let you know, you won't."

Ric laughed then, the peals of mirth sounding self-indulgent and mocking. "You know, you really were a packrat. Imagine, keeping all those medical files on your estranged family members. It was actually quite foolish of you to do so, Alan, but I will admit they were an interesting read. Who would have thought that such a health minded professional, such as yourself, would have a history of heart disease? Why, it was practically a stroke of luck on my part to stumble across that information. It's going to make killing you so much easier."

"You'll never get away with it," the older man spit out.

"Oh, really, and why not? There's a pretty clear track record of high blood pressure in the Quartermaine line, and, even though you call yourself a Morgan, you're just as much a Quartermaine as your father is, a man who just so happens to be a heart attack survivor. It'll be such a shame when he finds out that his only son wasn't as lucky, especially considering the fact that he brought it on himself with all the illegal drugs in his system and the booze, not to mention the fact that he put in a call just a few minutes ago to a local prostitution service, but, at the same time, no one will be surprised that Sonny Corinthos' personal physician and right hand man chose to foolishly live a life of debauchery. It's tragic, really."

Despite the fact that he felt fighting was futile at that point, Alan refused to go down easily. "Too bad that everyone who knows me is perfectly aware of the fact that I would never use drugs or drink myself into having a heart attack."

"But they would believe that you'd have sex with a call girl? What's wrong, Doc," Ric teased. "Couldn't get it up for real woman, or did they find your corpulent self too repulsive that even all that former cash you used to have couldn't entice them into bed?"

"This is ridiculous! I will not spend my last few moments alive arguing with you over my sex life."

"That's good, because I'd much rather hear about all those people who know you so well they won't believe you could party yourself to death." Crossing his right leg over his left knee, the younger man asked, "just how many friends do you have, Doctor Morgan? I guess there's Sonny, but he's so busy with this new takeover of his and with his new protégé Lucky Spencer, that he probably won't even realize you're missing until he wants you to do something for him like the over-compensated, patronized gopher that you are. Speaking of 

the Spencers, I have a feeling they'll rejoice upon hearing the news of your death, for it'll mean they'll have one less obstacle to get past in order to take control of the organization out from underneath your boss. And, then, we can't forget about your loyal, dutiful, loving son, but, wait," the snickering, dark haired man taunted the physician, "that's right. Jason can't stand you. He'll probably celebrate your death, too, as he feels those chains of control you've leashed to him over the years break apart, and, in his elation, he'll fail to notice me stepping in to pick up right where you left off.

"You see, Alan, your son has been lying to you for months now, years even. After our meeting two nights ago, I did a little research on that land you took me to out in the middle of nowhere. Turns out, Jason is the proud owner and has been ever since your mother gifted it to him after her passing when he turned eighteen. And, then, we can't forget about Little Miss Webber either. They – Elizabeth and your son – know that you have a tracking device on that angel, so, when they want to be together, she leaves it in a plausible place like the library, or her brother's apartment, or at the book store next to her own shop, and, without your knowledge, sneaks off to be with your kid."

"Why are you telling me all this," the older man despondently asked, curious despite the fact that the knowledge he would receive if Ric choose to answer his question would do him absolutely no good.

"I just thought you might want to know how I'm going to kill your son," Lansing replied with a crooked grin. "I realize that the two of you haven't been close in a long time, but, in your own way, I do believe you love Jason. You just loved the power he could bring you more. However, rest assured that, soon, he'll be joining you in hell, and, when he does, you'll have no one to blame but yourself for bringing me into his life in the first place."

All of a sudden, it felt as if he couldn't breathe. His chest became tight, the air passages to his lungs closing off, as an intense, shattering pain surged forth from his torso and vibrated unsympathetically through his left arm. He attempted to reach for it with his right hand, but the hand cuffs keeping him in place on the bed made the simple action impossible. Instead, the only thing he could do was stare at Ric Lansing as the younger man watched on in pure fascination as he died before his very eyes, the heart attack occurring just as he had planned and promised it would.

As a fine sheen of perspiration bloomed on his forehead, he saw the man across from him stand. "Well, I'll leave you to it and let karma work its magic. Thanks for the job, Doc," the cocky son of a bitch taunted with a chuckle. "It was good doing business with you."

The last thing Alan Morgan saw before his eyes fell shut for the very last time was the door to the cheap motel room closing in front of him.

/ / /

Alexis Davis glanced around the wooded grounds surrounding her. Even though she was not a girl partial to nature herself, she could appreciate the beauty of the spot Jason and Elizabeth had brought her to that evening. It was peaceful, a little slice of private heaven 

just outside Port Charles that one could only reach by traveling through a labyrinth of old, one lane, dirt roads, and she knew immediately that, over the past several years, before her best friend had reentered his life, it had been the very thing that had managed to keep Jason Morgan sane as he struggled to stay afloat and alive in the dangerous world he was, without choice, brought into.

"Where are we? I didn't even realize there was any undeveloped land left within twenty-five miles of town."

"If this place ever had a name," the blonde beside her spoke quietly, almost reverently, as he gazed around his own property, "my Grandmother never told me what it was."

"This land used to belong to Lila Quartermaine?"

"Yes," he shared. The attorney watched as her latest client reached out to clasp Elizabeth's hand in his, and she slightly envied the support the two of them could give each other so easily. She had never felt that kind of connection with anyone before, and, because of her past, she was afraid she never would. "It was a part of her dowry, and, despite Edward's constant pleading, she never would allow him to build anything on it. She said it was too charming to destroy with a mini-mall or a high-rise condo complex. It was just one thing we shared, a love for the naturally beautiful, so she gave it to me in her will. I've owned this land since I was eighteen."

"And you never did anything with it?"

"I've explored it, but that's all," Jason answered. "There was a time when I considered building myself a small house here. This was once private estate. There's a clearing, an old foundation, the ruins of an ancient garden, so it was obviously someone's home in the past, but it was never a realistic thought to live here, and, soon, it'll be impossible an impossible one."

He turned, meeting Alexis' curious, interested brown eyes. "Whatever happens to this land, I don't want it developed. It's not what my Grandmother would have wanted, and I won't disrespect her memory by desecrating this land that she loved so much."

"It's a marvelous piece of property, and I'm sure, with a real estate agent, I would be able to get you top dollar from an investor, but I can see why it shouldn't be touched. What would you think of it being made into a park?"

For the first time that evening, her best friend spoke up. "A park?"

"Yes, I believe I can convince the city of Port Charles to invest in this property, but they'd have to do something with it. A park would protect most of the natural beauty and grace but still make it useful. Plus, if you wanted," she informed Jason, "I'm sure I'd be able to have it named after your Grandmother."



He nodded, swallowed thickly, and then stated, "Lila would like that."

Their conversation was interrupted, though, by the lawyer receiving a call. "Excuse me," she asked, backing away from the couple as she took a few steps to the side in order to speak into her cell in private. Mumbling to herself, she admitted, "I can't believe I can even get reception out here in this jungle," but the humor died away as soon as the words from the caller sunk in. Her secretary, knowing that Alexis was on a business meeting with Jason Morgan, had interrupted to share with the older woman a bit of shocking news, and, now, she was being forced to relay that news to her client.

Turning around, Alexis met the two blue gazes across from her unwaveringly. While their eyes were so different in color, one a silver cobalt and the other a rich, almost ebony sapphire, she found, in that moment, that they complimented each other, and the petty, inconsequential realization somehow gave her strength to clear her throat and confess, "I'm so sorry, Jason, but your father…"

"Yes," the younger man asked, somewhat impatiently, making it obvious that there was bad blood between the two Morgan men.

"He's dead."


	28. Chapter 28

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight  
FF#258: Lock the door and close the blinds.**

It wasn't everyday that Carly Roberts just so happened to stop in for a little chat, and it was even more unusual for her to utter a four word sentence that left Elizabeth beyond flabbergasted. 'I want to help' was just not something her brother's girlfriend said very often. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she was breathing. With mouth agape, she stared at the blonde across from her, primly seated behind the counter on the only chair she kept in the store. Ankles crossed, knees pressed demurely together, and hands folded across her lap, the interior designer looked perfectly poised and almost genteel. If she didn't know better, the artist would have been fooled.

Finally regaining a semblance of her normal self, she requested, "can you please repeat that for me just one more time?"

Carly scoffed, and, just like that, the appearance of a lady disappeared. "Come on, Lizzie," she complained, never once glancing up from inspecting her manicure. "How many times do I have to say it?"

"Until I believe you," the brunette remarked without pause for thought. "Look at it from my perspective," she tried again, bending down to kneel in front of her brother's live-in girlfriend. "You and I, we haven't always gotten along all that well in the past."

"You hate me and think that your brother deserves better."

"Well, there is that," Elizabeth agreed hesitantly, nodding her head. "Plus, you're not one known for being altruistic."

"Who said anything about me doing this for you," the older woman countered, rolling her eyes. "I'm not that naïve. I help one person and one person only – myself, and, since I didn't get to date Jason, I think you should let me do this."

"You say that almost as if your relationship with him would have been real, Carly? Aren't you forgetting my brother?"

"It's the same thing as with you and your paintings," the blonde dismissed with a distracted wave of her thin hand.

"Oh, really, and how so?"

The seated woman met her gaze. "We both realize that a piece of art work must be admired in person. While a picture might give you a vague idea of what something… or someone looks like, it never completely captures every nuance. So, just like you prefer to admire all your silly paintings up close and personal, I like to admire men that same way, too. As for 

Patrick, as long as I just look and don't touch, I'm technically not doing anything wrong, and I highly doubt even you could stand here and claim that your brother never once glances in another woman's direction."

Conceding, Elizabeth allowed, "you make a good point, but that still doesn't mean that I like you thinking about Jason."

"What's wrong - afraid of a little competition?"

"Actually," the brunette bragged slightly, a content smile lighting up her face. "That's the last thing I worry about with him."

"Bully for you," the interior decorator dismissed with a bored shrug. "So, about that little proposal of mine…"

"Right," the store owner focused. "Mr. Corinthos."

"From what I've read about him, he prefers to be called Sonny."

"Well, for your sake, let's hope he also doesn't mind adding gullible and capable of being led around by his…"

"Let's not get graphic, Lizzie," Carly beseeched her. "Do we have a deal then?"

"Jason said it's up to you. He doesn't like it," she warned the blonde, "but he also doesn't believe in telling people what they can and cannot do. Plus, from everything I've told him about…"

"All bad, of course."

Elizabeth ignored the interruption. "… He realizes that you'd never listen to him anyway if he did say no. At least this way, he's aware of what you're doing and can somewhat watch out for you. So, the answer to your question is yes – if you really want to pursue Sonny as a potential client and work him for information…"

"And his money," the older woman added. "Don't forget about the money, because that's really the only reason I'm doing this. The guy is loaded."

"And the money," the brunette permitted. "Then be our guest. Just be careful, please." Smirking wickedly, she teased, "if anything happened to you, it might take Patrick a couple of days to forgive me."

"Your concern warms my non-existent heart, Lizzie."

"I'm seriously, Carly," the artist warned her. "Do not do anything stupid."



"All I'm going to do is sell him some ridiculously overpriced furniture, reap the rewards of the commission, and make sure that he pays me out of his private, personal account. Your little boy toy would obviously have the numbers and the access codes to the business ones, but I figured he could use some inside information as well. And, if I happen to _accidentally_ overhear something while I'm tinkering around in his penthouse, then whoops - my bad… and your gain."

"I don't like how you said the word accidentally, Carly."

"Oh, Muffin," the blonde retorted, standing up and preparing to leave. "Don't worry so much. If you keep frowning like that, all your milk will sour." As she approached the exit of the shop, ignoring the incoming customer she was blocking from entering, she turned to address the younger woman one more time. "It was nice doing business with you, Webber. I'll keep you informed."

"A friend of yours?"

She didn't even have time to recover from one annoying, intrusive visit before another one occurred. Glancing across the counter at the man before her, a man that still, after several weeks of making random drop ins at the store, made her feel on edge and slightly uncomfortable, all Elizabeth wanted to do was tell him to mind his own damn business. But she was in her place of work, and, even though she wouldn't be operating the store for that much longer, she still had a professional reputation to uphold, and she wasn't going to let Richard Lansing, CPA divert her from it.

So, in response, she merely stated, "she dates my older brother."

"So she's family then."

"Oh, god, please don't say that. Carly Roberts can marry my brother, carry his babies, and die old still loving him, and I'll never consider her my family, and I can assure you that the feeling is mutual." Sighing and straightening her shoulders, the twenty-two year old made it perfectly clear that their personal discussion was over. "So, what can I do for you today? Just out for _another _stroll during your lunch break?"

"No, actually," the almost stranger denied. "I was running errands this afternoon, you know, the dry cleaners, the post office, things like that, when I noticed someone was tailing you."

Without thought, Elizabeth's hand went directly towards her throat, covering the angel pendant Jason had given her a couple months before. Sinking down into the chair Carly had just vacated moments before, she exclaimed, "excuse me?"

"There's a man in a non-descript sedan parked across from your store. I wouldn't think anything of it, but the last few times I've been by this area of town, I've noticed the same exact man sitting in the same exact car that is always parked in the same exact place. Like I said before, Miss Webber," the accountant gentled his voice. "You're being tailed."  


"I, um," the young artist fumbled for what to say, surprise still coursing through her. "I don't know what to say." It wasn't so much the fact that Jason had a guard on her that shocked her, it was the fact that he had not told her about it.

"Well, I would suggest that you call the police. I'm sure they could get this straightened out for you right away. Anyhow, I don't want to take up any more of your time. If you need me, you have my card… though I highly doubt a number cruncher could help you out in this type of situation, but, for now, I need to get going, errands and all. You will be alright, won't you?"

"I'll be fine, Mr. Lansing," she reassured him with a forced, tight smile. "Just fine."

Elizabeth watched the dark haired man walk away, and, as soon as he rounded the corner out of her sight, she sprang into action. Without pause, she rushed towards the entrance of her store, locking the door with just a few quick flicks of her wrist, pulled the blinds closed, and then turned off the lights. Using the back, supply dock, she slipped out of the shop, dialing her phone as she walked towards her car. His cell went immediately to voicemail, but she left a message anyway, knowing that he was anal about checking it.

"It's me," the brunette stated without preamble. "We need to meet. I'll be at the safe house. I know the way now, so there's no need to send Max. And don't worry. I'll drive around in circles for a while before heading there. See you soon."

/ / /

If there was one thing Jason hated, it was cryptic phone calls, and they only seemed to happen when something bad was about to go down. He had been in a meeting with the organization's accountant when Elizabeth had called, unable to answer his phone, but, as soon as they were finished, he had listened to the voice mail and sped off as quickly as his bike would take him. Throwing caution to the wind and leaving the speed limits behind him by at least forty miles per hour, he had gotten himself to the safe house in record time, afraid that something was wrong.

Bursting in through the front door, he immediately called out to her… his girlfriend. "What? What is it? What's wrong?"

She had been seated on the couch, patiently waiting for him to arrive when he appeared, but, without answering him, the petite beauty stood up and slowly stalked her way towards him. The look in her eyes had Jason taking several steps back until his entire form, from head to heel of his motorcycle boots, was pressed up against the wall. There were too many emotions swirling around in the dark blue pools of liquid midnight to name them all, but he could pinpoint several of them – anger, frustration, need, want, determination, and, instantly, he knew that he was in trouble.

"Elizabeth?"



"Shut up," she demanded harshly, the words sounding from her full lips like piercing bullets. "Just shut up right now, Jason."

And, then, as if to bend him to her will, she made sure that he wouldn't be able to talk; she made sure that the last thing he would ever want to do again was talk. Grasping his face in her tiny, chilled hands, she brought his mouth down to hers as she lifted herself up on her tip-toes, effecting silencing him with her own lips. The kiss was brutal, bruising, nothing like what he had expected their first kiss to be like, but, at the same time, he wouldn't have changed a single thing about it. She possessed him entirely with her kiss. His mouth opened under hers almost instantaneously, allowing her tongue to slither in and mate with his own. With blended palates, their separate and distinct yet complimentary tastes danced with each other, dueled, became one. She bit him, she toyed with him, she sucked on his lips, anything and everything to drive him wild with longing and desire.

By the time the little minx pulled away, the blonde could feel a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, the sheer fervor and craze of her kiss leaving the mark. Breathlessly, she commanded him, "call off the guards."

It was the last thing Jason had expected her to say. "What?"

With chest still heaving from their embrace, Elizabeth restated her direction. "Call off the guards."

"I can't."

"I don't need them, Jason," she argued. "Our plan is working. Everyone thinks that you're dating Alexis. If anyone would need guards, it's her, though we both know she'd never accept them. I'm perfectly safe, and, if you really want to help me, if you really want to make me sleep better at night, you'll put those extra men on yourself. You're the one who's really in danger here."

"I can take care of myself, Elizabeth," he assured her.

"Why, because you're a man?"

"No," he countered, "because I've been trained to do so. My reflexes are quicker than any of the guards and my aim more accurate. I'll be fine."

"You better be," she playfully warned him, pouting slightly. The movement of her lips made him want to kiss her again. "I worry about you, you know."

"I know," Jason whispered, pulling her into his arms. "And I love you for it, but you don't have to."

As he bent to join their mouths together once again, she pulled back slightly, quirking her brow in his direction. "And the guards?"  


"I'll pull them," he promised, this time taking his turn in silencing her with his lips.


	29. Chapter 29

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine  
FF#257: The Intruder.**

"Boss," Ritchie knocked on Sonny's door while, at the same time opening it. "Mr. Abrams is here to see you."

The only response he received was a wave as Mr. Corinthos, with his back turned towards him, poured himself a rather generous drink. But Ritchie didn't mind the indifference, the slight, the downright disrespect. One got used to such things from the don after several years of _loyal_ servitude. At one point, he might have bristled at the mob boss' sheer disregard for his men, but knowing what he did, knowing what was about to happen, he wasn't particularly bothered. In fact, Sonny's attitude only made him that much more excited for the changes that were quickly approaching. As far as he was concerned, Mr. Corinthos was about to get exactly what he deserved.

Just desserts were unbelievable sweet.

"Go on in, Benny," he instructed the older, nervous man. No matter how many times the accountant met with their employer, he always arrived with a fine sheen of anxious perspiration on his forehead, his chubby, soft hands shaking slightly. That was just another thing Ritchie was looking forward to. He wanted to see how the graying man reacted around Francis once he was the one in charge of the Port Charles waterways.

Leaving the door cracked, both so he could hear what was occurring inside and also to make sure that Mr. Abrams made it out of his meeting with Sonny alive, the tall, dark guard listened in on the conversation he would normally care nothing about. However, this time he knew that the weekly accounting meeting had the power to cause fireworks, and he had always been fond of anything flame related.

"Can I get you something to drink, Benny?"

Ritchie didn't need to see inside of the penthouse to know exactly what was happening. As his boss asked the accountant if he cared for some refreshments, he'd be polishing off his own glass of scotch and pouring himself another generous tumbler full while waiting for a response. And then Benny would shake his head no, proclaim that it wasn't good for his temperamental heart, and laugh tensely while saying his wife wouldn't approve.

"No thanks, Sonny," the accountant returned appropriately. "It's not good for the ticker, and Sarah would have me sleeping on the couch for a week if I went home with alcohol on my breath."

Yes, he was a genius.

Next, his employer would smile, charming yet misleading dimples on full display, before 

taking his own seat, crossing one leg over the other as his expensive Italian suit trouser rode up just far enough to reveal a perfectly matched, cashmere sock underneath. Pleasantries over, they'd move on to business.

"So, how'd we do this week?"

"Profits continue to rise all around the board," the accountant answered. Ritchie could envision him shifting apprehensively on the sofa, clenching and unclenching his somber tie, all the while avoiding Sonny's gaze. "There's just one problem."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"I didn't think you would Mr. Corinthos, so, when I discovered it this morning, I set aside all my other responsibilities and started looking into it for you."

The guard knew that, at that point, the dimples had been replaced with a dark glower. "Just get to the point, Benny!"

"One hundred thousand dollars seems to have disappeared, collectively, from your various work accounts."

Exploding, Sonny stood up, pacing. "That son of a bitch!"

"Sir?"

"Jason did this, didn't he?"

Ritchie could tell by the accountant's tone that he was quite taken aback. "What?"

"He's been rebelling now for months… years, attempting to usurp my power, questioning my judgment, avoiding his obligations to my dynasty!" If nothing else, the dark haired security expert had to give the Hispanic man props. He truly was a drama queen. "This is just his latest attempt to over throw me."

"No offense, boss, but he'd need a lot more than one hundred thousand dollars to take over the territory," Benny remarked cautiously. "And, at any rate, it wasn't Jason anyway. I couldn't track the missing funds down myself, but I got our computer guy on it, and he found the cash in a Cayman's account registered to a man by the name of Hans Liechtenstein."

Mouthing the words at the same exact time that Sonny said them, Ritchie mocked, "who the fuck is Hans Liechtenstein?"

"He's just one of the many aliases belonging to one Mr. Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Sr."

"Luke's been stealing from me?"  


"Actually, I'm not sure that he has been," Benny confessed. Speaking quickly before their employer could interject, the guard heard him explain, "Luke Spencer is a lot of things, but he's not smart enough or talented enough to break into our computer system. Whoever accessed and moved this money did it from the inside. However, his son on the other hand…"

"He's dead," the Cuban barked, slicing his hand absentmindedly through the air. Ritchie had always found the motion to be a bizarre mix between a conductor having just eaten a bad bowl of chili and a man with Tourette's trying to swat at a fly. It never failed to entertain. "I don't care what kind of excuses that little prick has to offer me, he betrayed me. He used me, he lied to me, and he disrespected me by ever even thinking he could steal from me."

"Sir, I'm sure you'll do what you feel is necessary, but if you could please refrain from making threats in my presence…"

"Then get out," Sonny ordered, yelling towards his accountant. Despite the fact that he was trying to keep his eavesdropping self hidden, Ritchie almost laughed out loud of the image he had in his mind of Benny scurrying with his tail between his legs towards the door… not that he blamed the older man. It was best to leave the penthouse before one had a shard of barware stuck in their skull.

As their boss raged behind them, Mr. Abrams escaped, perfectly intact, within seconds, immediately composing himself in front of the bodyguard. "Have a good night, Mr. Morelli."

"I will," he returned to the account with a brief smile. "And the same to you, too. Say hello to your charmingly bossy wife for me, would ya? She makes the best strudel I've ever had.

Benny's nod of acceptance and smile was the last thing he saw before going back to his post. Making sure the door was shut tight behind him, Ritchie grinned. Everything was falling into place.

/ / /

She was exhausted.

While her days were filled with organizing and cleaning, stocking and prioritizing as she prepared for her business to no longer be her own, wanting everything to be in perfect order when Patrick inherited it no matter what he decided to do with it, Elizabeth's nights were no longer disciplined and tranquil either. Instead, they belonged to Jason, and the two of them, whether by merely talking on the phone at night or by meeting somewhere, would stay up as late as they possibly could to spend time with each other.

They talked about everything – their pasts, their presents, and their futures… together, their likes and dislikes, their fears and dreams. She made him laugh, and he always seemed to find ways to make her blush. It was the happiest she could ever remember being in her entire life, even before everything changed when she was younger, and that wasn't even 

taking into account all the kisses. As she made her way into her dark apartment, not bothering to switch on any lights because she was just going straight to bed, the brunette had to giggle to herself at the thought. She and Jason shamefully made out like teenagers whenever they were near one another, and, although their relationship hadn't progressed further than heavy make-out sessions on the safe house couch, they both knew where they were eventually headed – eagerly and quickly, for that matter.

As she stepped foot into her bedroom, Elizabeth paused. Something just felt… different, off almost. Cocking her head to the side, she pondered if maybe she had forgotten to put her easel away that morning, so it would be there, in the middle of the room, to trip her. Or, maybe, she had left her closet door open again, and, if so, if she wasn't careful, she'd run right into it. Deciding it was best if she actually did turn on a light, she reached for the switch only for a familiar yet unrecognizable voice to stop her dead in her tracks.

"Leave it off." When she went to turn and run, the person spoke again. "And don't even think about it. I didn't go through all this effort to be alone with you or for you to skip out early on me. Now, that wouldn't be very hospitable of you, Miss Webber, would it?"

She hated the fact that he knew her name, that he used such a familiar tone with her, that she had asked Jason to remove his guards. If someone was there, right outside her apartment, watching, they might sense that something was wrong; they might be able to help her, but, as it was, there was no one nearby, no one who would be able to hear her scream, no one to save her.

"Aw," the intruder taunted. "Are you scared? I can hear your breathing. It's ragged, jumpy, erratic. "Or," he seemingly changed his mind, startling Elizabeth further when he reached out and touched her, possessively cupping and then painfully squeezing her right breast, his breath sickly sweet as it fanned across her face. "Do you want me just as much as I want you?"

"No."

She was amazed at how forceful that one word coming from her own mouth sounded, but, nevertheless, she was thankful for the strength she apparently had to fight back.

"Well, that's too bad," the man remarked disapprovingly, almost chastising her, "because I really don't care."

Insinuating one of his legs between her own, he forced her tightly clasped knees apart, pushing his thigh roughly against her. Once she was open, vulnerable, he quickly removed his leg only to press her into the door behind them with his hips. Grimacing, the artist could feel his obvious arousal from their position, and all she wanted to do was cry. But she wouldn't allow herself the luxury. Instead, she tried to fight back. She bucked, and she kicked, and she hit, but all of her efforts were to no avail.

"Let go of me!"  


"Now where would the fun be in that," the stranger harassed, snickering at her expense. "You've been tempting me for weeks – with your coy, little smiles and the way you bite your lip. And, besides," the man added, dropping his voice down several octaves while, at the same time, dropping his face into the crook of her neck to kiss the petal soft skin. "I need you to do something for me."

"What," Elizabeth latched onto the hope that, perhaps, his attack wasn't necessarily about her, that she could do something, anything to get him to stop touching her. "I'll do anything, just, please, don't do this."

"Why, Lizzie," he tormented. The nickname – one that only Carly used – caught her off guard. "Are you afraid your big, bad boyfriend wouldn't want you anymore if he every found out you allowed another man to touch you, to taste you, to…"

Interrupting him, the twenty-two year old yelled, "I didn't allow you to do anything to me. You forced yourself on me."

"Semantics, Miss Webber," the intruder argued. Startling her, he reached out with his free hand, his other still occupied with pinching and bruising her tender right breast, and grabbed her chin, crushing it. "Tell Mr. Morgan that if he doesn't do what he's told, the next time I see you, I won't show as much discretion."

And, with that, he let go of her completely, backing away until she couldn't see him any longer because of the dark and then disappearing from her apartment, the front door clicking behind him as he left. Unable to support herself any longer, the brunette collapsed onto the floor of her bedroom, shaking in fright and crying uncontrollably. It wasn't until she recalled exactly whose voice the man had used that she started to calm down.

Richard Lansing, quite obviously not a CPA whoever he was, was after Jason, and, to do so, he was going through her. Standing up, she blindly reached for her bag, running as fast as she could out of her home and towards her parked car. She didn't care if it was breaking all the rules; she didn't care that she was only going to risk not only her own safety even more at that point but also Jason's as well. There was only one place she could think of going in that moment, and nothing was going to stop her from doing so.

She was going to Harbor View Towers; she was going to Jason.


	30. Chapter 30

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Thirty  
FF#256: Something's Different.**

After spending several hours with Elizabeth at the safe house that evening, Jason had returned back to his penthouse, politely excusing the guard who had been monitoring the surveillance equipment he still had stationed around his girlfriend's apartment. Though he had removed the twenty-four hour, constant guard rotation from her as she had requested and he had promised, the cameras were, despite of her knowledge, still positioned around her building. Although he felt bad for essentially lying by omission to the woman he loved, he wasn't about to remove every security measure they had put into place.

Someday, when they were gone from Port Charles and officially together somewhere far away, he'd tell her everything. He'd tell her about how he had kept an eye on her for all those years as she grew up from a barely legal eighteen year old girl into a mature, hypnotizing woman of twenty-two. He'd tell her about just how long the guards had been watching her, and he would also tell her about the constant surveillance they had put on her since the moment Max, at his own father's behest, had started to follow her. And he just hoped that she would forgive him.

All was quiet, though, that late night as Jason settled in for a sleepless, restless set of hours on the couch. He had watched Elizabeth arrive home and go inside her apartment as she did every evening, and, since that moment, there had been no movement. Instead of reading to pass the time or even instead of watching some TV, the blonde simply sat in thought. He did that often, imagining what things would be like in, perhaps, just a few short weeks. Everything was going as planned, everything was moving smoothly, and he was going to make damn sure that everything stayed that way.

A knock, timid yet frantic all at the same time, had him glancing up and over towards his door. Figuring it was Francis with an update or Johnny wanting to mooch some of the liquor he always kept in the house but rarely drank himself, Jason rose, ambling slowly towards the entrance to his apartment. What he found in the hallway, though, was the last thing he had been expecting to see – a barely composed Elizabeth Webber.

Meeting Ritchie's gaze from across the corridor, the guard silently communicated that he had no idea what was going on, so he simply stepped aside, wordlessly inviting the pale yet still unbelievably beautiful woman into his sparsely furnished home. It was the first time Elizabeth had ever been to the penthouse, and, despite the fact that he was curious as to why she would do something so risky, Jason also had to admit that it felt good to have her near him no matter what the circumstances were.

"I… uh, what's wrong? Did something…"

"I'll explain everything," she promised him, meeting his gaze squarely, never once even attempting to wander about the main room. He found her lack of curiosity about his home 

unusual. "I'll tell you why I'm here, what happened, everything, but, first…" Her words trailed off as she fairly bounded into his embrace, her arms holding him as tightly as they could. "I just… I need to be with you, Jason."

"Be with me," he repeated, sounding inept even to his own ears. "Elizabeth, are you okay?"

"I will be," his girlfriend whispered brokenly. Lifting her head from where she had it pressed against his chest, her imploring eyes sought out his, begging for him to be closer to her, to kiss her, to just be with her. And who was he to say no?

Allowing their lips to meet, at first shyly, the blonde relearned her taste all over again. No matter how many times they kissed, no matter how many times he held her in his arms, she always seemed slightly different the next time, always changing, forever transforming, and he couldn't get enough of her. As their mouths mated freely yet sweetly at the same time, he wrapped her up in his embrace, lifting her right off of her feet before turning towards the stairs and carrying her up to his bedroom. Neither of them broke the kiss until he went to reach for the light switch. Before he could touch it, though, Elizabeth's hand came up to caress his face.

"Can we… can we keep the lights off?"

"But I want to see you as I make love to you," Jason responded, nipping at the little cleft in her chin he found entirely too fascinating.

"Next time," the painter compromised, pulling her legs up to wrap them around his waist. "For tonight, though, I just want to feel – no seeing, no thinking. Make me feel," she begged of him. "Please, Jason?"

And, like before, he granted her what she wished.

Almost reverently, he laid her down in the middle of his king sized bed, stepping back momentarily to appreciate how she looked beguilingly sprawled amongst his plain, simple sheets. Her tumbled, chocolate curls and creamy ivory skin made his once common bed look sinful, tempting, alluring. And he joined her almost immediately.

Not wanting to rush anything, they simply remained there, Jason poised above her as his own mouth slowly seduced hers. As he licked and teased, tasted and memorized, cherished and sipped from her lips, his hands, button by button, leisurely opened her shirt, eventually revealing her nude torso underneath and the pale pink, sheer bra that hinted at the ripeness of her youthful, vivacious breasts. Leaving her mouth behind, his tongue traveled down to her throat, laving and marking the delicate flesh as his own, and, as he sucked on her throbbing pulse point, he allowed his left hand to wander to her heaving chest.

But, then, she pulled away from him, immediately apologizing.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth pleaded with him to understand. When he went to look anywhere but 

in her direction, she reached forward, cupping his face. "Hey, hey," the brunette soothed, lifting her lips to brush them against his own. "I'm sorry."

"No, I am. I shouldn't have rushed you."

"Jason, I'm the one who showed up here in the middle of the night with no explanations and acting mysteriously. If anyone here is rushing the other, it's me, and I'm sorry, because I shouldn't have pulled away from you like that. It's just that my breasts are tender. You did nothing wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, actually," she teased him, laughing while falling back down flat on the bed, urging him to follow her. "I'm not. After all, you did stop kissing me."

"It won't happen again, Webber," he promised her, returning her grin.

And he made sure that it didn't. As they undressed each other, as they explored new territories of each other's bodies previously left undiscovered, he never once stopped kissing her. Whether their lips were tangled together or his mouth was tantalizing other parts, equally as responsive parts, of her body, he was always tasting her, learning exactly what drove the woman he loved to delirious heights of passion. He found out that she was slightly ticklish along the underside of her ribcage, especially when he would drop butterfly soft kisses along the curve of her abdomen. He discovered that she would moan deeply if he slipped in behind her while she was lying on her side and kiss the susceptible skin on the back of her neck just beneath her hairline. And he grinned wickedly after hearing her gasp erotically when he licked the delicate flesh of the inside of her wrists.

Physically loving Elizabeth was unlike any other experience he had ever shared with a woman before, and Jason took his time with her, savoring every single last second. When he finally slipped inside of her, their bodies joining as one, he felt his restraint break. The teasing disappeared, and the whimsical foreplay was replaced with a desperate, almost frantic love making. She met him, though, with every motion, eagerly accepting his attentions and lavishing her own upon him. With his arms wrapped around her, one locked possessively in her hair and the other wound around her lower back, the fingers of his right hand dipping down to rest against the curve of her round, soft derrière, and her own limbs clutching distractedly at his shoulders, their legs tangled up endlessly in the damp, forgotten sheets, he finally relented and allowed her to crest her first wave of orgasmic pleasure. But he wasn't ready to give in yet himself.

Repositioning them, he rolled over, allowing the woman he loved to straddle him. With his hands placed firmly on her hips, he kept her actions in rhythm, guiding her as she recovered from the contentment. Slowly, she recuperated only to push herself up off the top of him to throw her shoulders back and curve her form in delight at the new angle of their joined bodies. From his position flat beneath her, Jason watched as she started to love him in return, casually running his digits up and down, over and across, diagonally and in circles 

on her velvety, glistening skin. The moonlight, streaming in through the uncovered windows bathed her form in an almost ethereal glow and allowed him shadowed glances of the perfection before him.

Well, almost perfection.

Marring the woman he loved's right breast was a faint, brand new bruise, five distinctly round prints discoloring the otherwise milky skin.

"Elizabeth," he asked, whispering the pads of his fingers against the injured flesh. Despite the fear growing low in his stomach, his voice came out as a husky moan, the bliss of their coupling obviously, temporarily, distracting him from his concern.

But she wouldn't listen to his worries. "Ssh," Elizabeth murmured, bending forward slightly to kiss her way up his abdomen. Starting at his navel and making her way to his chest, she reminded him, "no seeing, no thinking. Just feel, Jason."

And when her lithe little tongue slipped out to lick and taunt his parted lips, dipping in to taste him slightly, that was exactly what he did. He felt, exploding with his release and bathing her contracting, quivering walls with his seed, her second orgasm triggered by his own.

As they lay there, deliciously tangled in each other's embrace, their mutual satisfaction still coursing through their well loved forms, he slowly regained both his composure and his ability to reason, and the moment was shattered. Sitting up, Jason collected Elizabeth onto his lap, holding her tightly to him as he cradled her in his arms.

"We need to talk."


	31. Chapter 31

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Thirty-One  
FF#255: "It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution." – Oscar Wilde**

She stirred her martini, watching as the bare drink stick swirled in the gin, the olives already having been consumed. For the past hour, she had been doing the same thing – ordering martinis, eating the pitted vegetables, and then sending the glasses of alcohol back to the bartender. She needed a sharp mind for the scheme she was about to perpetrate, and, if she had anything to say about it, pull off.

Carly Roberts, though always misjudged as one, was not a dumb blonde. In fact, she wasn't even a natural blonde, but the only two people who knew that little tidbit of information at that point besides herself was her birth mother, whoever she was, and her hairstylist, and neither of them were talking for various reasons. No, she wasn't blonde, and, neither for that matter, was she stupid, but, if the act afforded her certain concessions, certain advantages, she would ditz it up for anyone who was brave… or foolish enough to place preconceived, incorrect notions upon her.

And that was exactly what she was hoping Sonny Corinthos would do.

He was there that night as well. It's why she had chosen _The No Name_ as her source of a watering hole that evening… not that she was, in fact, _watering_. Rather, she had simply done her research on the mafia boss. She knew that the Italian restaurant was a favorite of his. In fact, there were rumors in some circles that he owned the establishment. She knew that he preferred to drink alone and at copious amounts but, at times, would venture away from his lofty penthouse perch to associate with those he considered to be the little people beneath him. And, most importantly, she had learned, via her study, that he liked to take what other people owned. Be it business or pleasure, if Sonny Corinthos considered one of your assets better than his, he'd swoop in, do everything within his power to seize it, and, in the end, always came out on top… with your prized possession.

However, this time, she was determined to beat him at his own game. The question was, though, why – why did she want to help Elizabeth, why was this new mark so important, why risk everything she had good going in her life with Patrick for one last con? Despite the fact that she couldn't really answer those questions with one hundred percent certainty, she was still there – stalking, preying, preparing to devour her victim easily and quickly… that was, if Sonny Corinthos ever approached her, because, as a part of her game, there was no way she could approach him. As a man who always liked to feel as if he was in control, she had to temporarily relinquish the reigns, manipulating him from afar.

And, unfortunately, the waiting gave her time to think about her motivations, something she really hated to do. Instead, Carly Roberts would rather plan, act, and then, later, regret. But, as her target lounged in his corner booth, broodingly sipping on tumbler after tumbler of scotch, she was left with pretending to be interested in her work – in the fabric swatches 

and the paint chips laid out before her, all the while contemplating the why's of her actions.

Sure, there was the money. After all, she adored money. Money was the most important thing in her life. It gave her pretty things, it made her feel safe and loved, and the thought of it, more so than Patrick, kept her warm at night. To her, money made the world go round, and she would do just about anything to get more of it… even if that met playing with fire. After all, while the initial burn might hurt, a person always felt better later when they got the insurance check in the mail.

And then there was also the challenge. If catching a top neurosurgeon was a feather in her cap, nabbing Sonny Corinthos, the largest crime boss on the east coast syndicate, would be her crowning achievement. It would confirm everything she believed about herself – that she was capable of seducing or scheming her way into or out of any situation in life, that she was smarter, street wise, than any other woman she met in the world and looked down upon, and that anything was possible with just the right dress and the perfect pair of shoes. While her self-image might have been shallow, for Carly, things that were profound were only confusing and perplexing, and they made her feel as if she were drowning in insecurity.

However, deep inside, she knew that neither the money nor the challenge was the real reason why she was pursuing such a dangerous man. Instead, it was all about validation. Since the moment she had started dating Patrick Webber, his little sister had looked down upon her, doing everything within her power to undermine and destroy their relationship. Elizabeth had always made it a point to express just how undeserving she felt Carly was of the great neurologist, and, somewhere, extremely buried beneath the snark, and the sarcasm, and the cynicism, the interior designer had always been jealous of the little artist.

Elizabeth – Immy – was in Patrick's eyes, the perfect woman. He adored his little sister, and, while she was still in their life, Carly would always exist in the younger woman's shadow. And, now, the twenty-two year old that she had either blindly or foolishly dismissed as a little girl was playing a game where the stakes were life and death; she was rolling with the big boys, the real men, and Carly felt as if she had to prove that she could as well. If the milk maid could take on the mob, then she could, too, and she would do it better, if for no other reason than to show herself that her rival was no better than she was.

At that point, it didn't even matter if Patrick realized that she and Elizabeth were on equal footing. In fact, Carly was actually hoping that her boyfriend would not find out about just how far she was willing to take her little unvoiced, one sided competition with the brunette, for, in the long run, such a revelation would only hinder their relationship, and, in the end, when the dust settled and the smoke cleared, she still wanted Patrick to be there, at her side, loving her, taking care of her, someday, perhaps, even supporting her.

As Sonny Corinthos finally stood, slowly trapping her in at the bar as he advanced towards her from his previously hidden perch, she downed the toyed with martini, deciding, at that last minute, to brace herself. It wasn't that she needed the liquor in order to take on the dimpled Cuban, but, rather, she needed it to admit the last truth about her actions to herself. Besides the money, besides the challenge, and besides the validation, there was 

one other reason why she was helping Elizabeth by helping herself.

If the younger woman succeeded in her actions, if Jason Morgan succeeded in his, too, then her rival would leave town for good, never once darkening her door with Patrick again and never once darkening her status in the doctor's heart again either, and that was something Carly Roberts would do anything for… even if it meant taking on, tricking, and then taking down the devil himself.

Sliding onto the barstool beside her, the darkly attractive man teased, "you do know what they say about all work and no play, don't you?"

Meeting his gaze head on, the blonde smirked, holding out an impeccably groomed hand for the don to take. "Who said I'm not trying to do both. Carly Roberts," she introduced herself boldly, "interior decorator."

"Michael Corinthos," Sonny returned, grinning impishly, "your new employer."

/ / /

They had been sitting in silence for several minutes – Jason refusing to push her, and Elizabeth unsure of where or how to start, and, while a part of her didn't want to face the truth yet, didn't want to break the spell of bliss their love making had woven around them, there was another part of her that knew they couldn't put off talking any longer. If nothing else, her relationship with Jason was built upon total honesty and trust, upon communication. He had confided in her about his business, about a world she knew nothing about and couldn't possibly understand, and, now, it was her turn to return the favor, not only because what she had to share affected both of their lives but also because it was what two individuals in a strong, functioning couple were supposed to do.

Toying with her thin, pale fingers, she let out a harsh sigh before confessing, "a few weeks ago, maybe a couple of months… I don't really know exactly. Time's pretty much become a blur for me lately with everything going on. But, whenever it happened, a strange man, claiming his name was Richard Lansing, came into my shop, supposedly on his lunch break. He didn't do or necessarily say anything that made me feel uncomfortable, but…"

"He did nonetheless," the man holding her filled in, squeezing his arms carefully around her to show both his understanding and support.

"I didn't pay it much mind. Because of things from my past, I've always been sort of closed off towards other people, hard to get to know." Rolling her eyes, the painter admitted, "my brother tells me that it would have been easier for a Communist to gain McCarthy's trust than it is for a man to gain mine."

"But, somehow," Jason interrupted her tenderly, tipping her chin up so she would meet his gaze. "You ended up trusting me."

She could feel herself blush. "There was really never a doubt for me whether I could trust 

you or not. I just… did."

"Well then," he suggested, untwining her fingers only to lace them with his own. "Trust me enough to tell me about this mysterious past of yours. Why so closed off emotionally, Webber?"

With a wrinkled brow from confusion, she asked, "but I thought you wanted to know about, well…" Her voice trailed off as she glanced down at her bruised form, attempting to let go of Jason's hand so she could pull a sheet up to cover her blemished nudity, but he wouldn't let her. In a strangled, embarrassed voice, she said, "about this," meaning her injured breast.

"Eventually," was his only reply.

She nodded her head in acceptance, preparing herself mentally for what she was about to tell him. "There are… were three Webber children in my family. First, my parents had Patrick, their prodigal son. Then, there came my older, perfect sister Sarah. And, finally, I came along as a surprise several years later. Because of the large age gap between us, I didn't really get along with my siblings, and, when they became old enough to date and drive, I became their burden. My parents were pretty much tired of taking care of me, so they pushed me off mainly onto Sarah. Patrick was a senior in high school, preparing for college, so he was too busy.

"Sarah resented me for that, and, because she resented me, treating me accordingly, I thought I hated her, too. She was a dancer, you know," Elizabeth revealed, getting lost in the memories, "a beautiful, talented dancer, and I was jealous of her. On the night of the most important recital of her life for there were going to be scouts there from various private dance academies, I purposely made her late. I hid from her when she insisted that I get ready to go, I stole the keys and wouldn't give them back to her, and I even tried to sabotage her costume by spilling grape juice on it. But Sarah was unflappable. She tricked me into coming out from my hiding spot by saying that she was going to throw away all my art supplies, she had long legs, so she was faster and could chase me down when I tried to run away from her with the keys, and she even had the foresight to have a second costume made just in case I tried to pull something childish… which I inevitably always did. But we were still running late by the time we left for her recital."

Her voice dropped to a choked whisper as the artist continued. "It was raining out, one of those blinding northeastern storms where the rain drops are so big and there are so many of them that it's impossible to see out the windshield no matter how fast you have the wipers turned on. Under normal conditions, my older sister was a good driver, but between the weather, and my actions forcing her to speed, and my constant complaining and arguing from the backseat, it was no wonder that we wrecked, that my perfect sister was killed because of my selfish behavior while I walked away with a sprained ankle.

"My parents, perhaps rightfully so, never forgave me. Hell, I never forgave myself. The only person who did forgive me was Patrick, and, from that point on, we became inseparable. While Sarah's death forced me to grow up, it also compelled me to shut down. I felt rejected 

by most of the people in my life, so, if I pretended their rejection didn't matter, if I prevented myself from forming bonds in the first place, then I would take the power away from other people to hurt me. That's why Alexis and I are so close. She's never exactly told me what happened to her when she was younger, but I know it was tragic, that it has to do with her family. And Spinelli, he's just another lost, lonely soul with few connections to the outside world… just like me."

"And where do I fit into all this," Jason prompted her.

"You… You're that guy who makes me feel safe in a world that's anything but. You're the guy that saw past my prickly personality all those years ago and made me laugh when, with every other person, my attitude would have scared them away. You're the guy who loves me for me even when I do something selfish like show up in the middle of the night despite the dangers my actions could unleash upon you."

"I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too," Elizabeth admitted, offering him a goofy, watery smile. "In fact, it's the only place I ever want to be… with you."

Composing herself, she brushed her loose hair behind her ears, straightening and sitting up in her boyfriend's lap. "Anyway, so about Ric Lansing…"


	32. Chapter 32

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Thirty-Two  
FF#254: Sometimes the only place you can go, is up.**

"Hey, man," Francis greeted Jason as he stepped, without knocking, into his best friend's penthouse. "Your message said you needed to meet with me?"

"Lower your voice," the younger man ordered immediately, walking out of the kitchen with two mugs of steaming hot coffee, handing one to the guard. "Elizabeth's upstairs, finally sleeping. She had a rough night, so I don't want anything to wake her up. She needs her rest."

That was the last thing he had been expecting to hear. "Elizabeth… Webber?... is here… upstairs… sleeping… now?"

"No, she's upstairs in Sonny's apartment, but you know how easily sound travels through these walls."

"Since when did you become such a smartass, Morgan?"

Francis' grin only grew wider, despite the possible negative implications a sleeping Elizabeth Webber could have, when his oldest friend returned, "about the same time that you became such a dumbass."

"You've been hanging around O'Brien too much, Jason, really." Realizing the moment of mirth had lasted long enough, though, the security expert paused, sobered, and took a scalding hot sip of his black coffee. "So, what's going on?"

Following the blonde to the couch, the two of them sat down together before either spoke. Finally, Jason explained, "last night, someone attacked Elizabeth."

"Son of a bitch."

"It gets worse." Straightening to attention, the older man prepared himself for every last bit of bad news his friend had to offer him. "Have you ever heard of a man named Ric Lansing?"

"No," Francs stated slowly, thinking over his response. "No, I don't think I have."

"Neither have I, but, apparently, he's coming after me."

"And this was the same guy who attacked Miss Webber?"

The blonde nodded. "I already called Stan and Bernie earlier this morning. They're looking into him, but, from what I've been able to piece together from Elizabeth, this doesn't look 

good." Sighing, Jason continued. "I think my father was the one who initially brought him to town, or he at least had something to do with it. Lansing's been sniffing around Elizabeth now for several weeks. Ritchie confirmed it. Last night, he finally made a move."

"I'm not sure I want to hear this, but go ahead."

If there was one thing that could turn Francis Corelli's stomach faster or piss him off more than anything else, it was violence towards women. His beloved mother had taught him to respect women, to always treat them as if they were treasures, and, even though he didn't know Miss Webber well himself, she had his best friend's heart, and that was as much of a recommendation that she needed in his book. If someone had gone after her, if they had hurt her, well, to put it bluntly, Francis was going to make damn sure the animal paid for his actions.

"He broke into her apartment, waited for her there, and then physically assaulted her."

Seeing red, the guard pounced into a standing position. "The fucker raped her?"

"No," Jason assured him, standing up and placing two calming hands on the older man's shoulders, "but he pretty much promised that he would the next time if I didn't cooperate."

"Too bad he's not going to live long enough to ever get another hard on, let alone get near Miss Webber again."

"I hear what you're saying, Francis," the blonde agreed with him, "and I understand it, but we can't just react to what Lansing is doing. We have to think about this rationally."

"Screw rationality, man. That bastard _touched _the woman you love."

For the first time since the security expert set foot into the penthouse, he saw his best friend start to lose control. "Don't you think I know this already? Don't you think that I want to find that little prick and beat him to death? And I will," Jason promised, "but I'm not going into this blind, and I'm sure as hell not going to end up dead myself or in jail because I didn't think about my actions first."

Ticking his points off on his fingers, he pressed on. "Lansing knows about my relationship with Elizabeth, he knows that we had surveillance equipment set up around her building because he put a loop in our footage so we wouldn't see him entering or leaving her apartment, and, if I'm right and he was working with my father, that means that he probably killed Alan and now has all his information – his paperwork, his list of contacts, his secrets, and no one knew more about this organization or me and, by extension, Elizabeth, for that matter, than my father. We can't just kill Ric Lansing; we're going to have to completely obliterate him from the face of the earth. That means no body, no paper trail, and, most importantly, no evidence."

Sighing, the older man collapsed back onto the couch. "What a fucking mess."  


"Aren't you the queen of the understatement this morning, Frannie."

"Hey, watch it, Morgan," the guard warned, chuckling softly. It amazed him that they could both switch from planning another man's murder to humor so quickly and effortlessly. "I wiped the ring a couple of weeks ago with O'Brien's ass; I won't hesitate to do the same thing with yours."

"Just name the time."

Before Francis could respond, a third voice, a feminine, teasing one, joined their group. "No bare knuckles, boys," Elizabeth warned them, bending over the couch to offer Jason a tender yet appropriate good morning kiss on the cheek. "The last time Max and Milo did that, one of my good friends resembled a smurf for almost a month."

"Personally," the security expert quipped, winking at the pretty, men's pajama clad brunette. "I thought Milo liked good in blue."

"If nothing else," Jason added, joining in on the joke. "He sure as hell looked better than Max."

"Yes," the artist agreed, laughing. "Purple was rather an effeminate color for a bodyguard, wasn't it?"

"Tell that to O'Brien," Francis beseeched of her. "He still insists upon wearing his pretty boy, fancy-pants purple suits, no matter how many times I tell him they remind me of one of those singing California Raisons."

"I just might," Elizabeth promised him. "Now, what are you two up to today?"

"We're…" The older man met his best friend's gaze, smirking slightly. "We're just talking… you know, catching up."

"Right," the twenty-two year old patronized in a sing-song voice as she walked out of the living room and towards the kitchen. "And I'm going to take a day trip to the moon. Go back to your planning," she ordered. "Don't let me interrupt."

Jason waited until she disappeared before raising just one brow in question towards Francis. "Just leave it to me." Cracking his knuckles, he stated, "I know just what to do with Mr. Lansing."

And, boy, did he ever.

/ / /

"Really, Mr. Corinthos," Carly whined, glaring at the mobster from across his glass dining room table. "Do you really even want me to redecorate your apartment or not? Every single 

thing I suggest, you veto."

She watched as the smooth as silk don strolled around the furniture, stopping only when he was standing right next to her. Wrapping one arm dangerously low around her waist, he teased, "I thought I told you to call me Sonny."

"And I thought I told you that I'm seeing someone. If you don't raise those fingers by several inches, they'll be in that prized blender of yours before you can say 'I was just innocently checking for panty lines, Miss Roberts,' not that I'd believe the excuse, mind you."

"I'll take my hand off your ass if you agree to do something for me in return. Nothing dirty or inappropriate," he promised her, holding up a hand over where his heart, supposedly, resided. "In fact, I'm thinking what we need to really get your creative juices flowing is a field trip. Here, at the penthouse, you've only gotten to see a small portion of my tastes. However, there's this little hotel I own…"

"You want to take me to your hotel," the interior decorator interrupted, pivoting around so she could cock her hip in agitation towards the crime boss. "That has to be one of the worst pick up lines I've ever heard."

"Did it work?"

"Let's say that it went over about as smoothly as you suggesting I offer you my services free of charge."

Sonny laughed, clapping his hands together almost as if in anticipation. "Max," he bellowed towards the door, its silent hinges immediately being engaged as the large, friendly guard stuck his head into the top floor apartment. "Get the limo. Miss Roberts and I are ready to leave."

"Are the plans we discussed earlier still in effect, Sir?"

"Plans," Carly parroted, glancing back and forth between boss and employee. "Earlier? What the hell is going on here?"

"I'll explain everything in the car," the Cuban promised, reaching for both of their coats. After first slipping on his own, he helped her into the fur the blonde had recently treated herself to. "Now, let's get a move on. I don't want to be late."

And, just like that, Sonny Corinthos left her standing in the dust behind him. Huffing in frustration, the decorator stomped after her current boss – and objective – swearing and cursing him under her breath. They boarded the elevator together, rode the lift in quiet, and were already ten minutes into their drive towards wherever it was they were headed when the Mafioso finally started to explain his actions.



"Before I even met you last night, I had made plans for this afternoon, business plans that couldn't be changed."

"Well, why didn't you just say so," Carly challenged. "We could have scheduled our preliminary meeting for another day and time."

"Aw, but you see, I'm a man who likes instant gratification." As his gaze lingered on her body, far below her face, she shivered slightly. "By bringing you with me, not only do I get to kill two birds with one stone, but I also get to mix a little business with, what I'm hoping to be, a whole hell of a lot of pleasure."

"Mr. Corinthos…"

"Sonny," he playfully ordered her, dimples on full display.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, but I'm happily involved in a serious, committed relationship with a man I love." Lowering her brown eyes towards her lap, the blonde played her cards without hesitation or any awkwardness. "Nothing can ever happen between us."

"Who said anything about there even being an us," the crime boss questioned. Despite the blandness of his words, she could hear the underlying tones of flirtation, of deception.

"I think your hand, twenty minutes ago, traveling well south of the border spoke volumes."

Sonny just laughed.

After several tense moments, she felt the car pull to a stop but, because of the tinted windows, couldn't see where they were. For some reason, though, she, all of a sudden, felt nervous, and, when it came to intuition, her instincts were even better than her legs, and she had _great _legs. Narrowing her gaze at the smirking Cuban, she demanded to know, "where the hell are we, Mr. Corinthos."

"I'm not telling you anything until you call me by my first name."

"Fine then," Carly accepted his challenge, moving to climb out of the car, but, by the time she reached the door, she found that it was locked and could only be opened from the outside. Glaring at the self-satisfied don across from her, the interior designer hissed, "tell your human bullet shield to open these goddamn doors, or you're going to feel what it's like to have my four inch stiletto shoved so far up your ass, _Sonny_, those nightmares you've always had about going to prison will rapidly resemble a fucking fantasy."

"You know, that's what I like about you so much," the mafia boss stated simply, knocking on the roof to signal Max into action. "You give it to me straight, tell me what you honestly think and feel. I've never met a woman like that before. Most of them like to play games."



Stepping out of the limo, the blonde followed the don as he led her towards his private jet. "Oh, don't underestimate me, Mr. Corinthos. I can play those games just as well or even better than the next pretty thing you try – and fail – to pick up, and, from where I'm walking, it looks like you like to play games, too."

He ignored her, instead, asking, "so, how do you feel about gambling? That little hotel I mentioned owning, it's also a casino."

"If you think I'm actually going anywhere with you, then you're out of your mind."

"Oh, I don't think, Carly," the Cuban disagreed. "I know that you are, because, if you want me as a client, if you want to swindle me out of thousands upon thousands of dollars, you'll be boarding this plane with me in about thirty seconds, and you'll be wearing a smile while doing so, too."

"Separate rooms that don't connect," she demanded, listing her requirements for their trip. "No romantic dinners, no dates, strictly business meetings. And, most importantly, whatever clothing items I need to purchase wherever we're going, you're getting billed for them."

"Ladies first," Sonny ushered her on board, agreeing to her terms without dispute. Following quite a few steps behind her, Carly assumed, he was attempting to see up her skirt.

Once they were buckled into their seats, she turned to face the older man. "So, will you tell me now where we're going?"

"Currently," he smirked, glancing out the window. "Up."

Luckily for her, everything that went up, including Sonny Corinthos, eventually, crashed back down, and, if it was the last thing she did, Carly was going to make damn sure she was there to prevent his safe landing.


	33. Chapter 33

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Thirty-Three  
FF#253: I don't think you meant it when you said you couldn't love me; And I thought maybe if I kissed the way you do, you'd feel it, too.**

For the first since she was a teenager, Carly Roberts cried.

The Port Charles Park was the last place she usually would go when she was upset. Sometimes she'd shop; other times she'd treat herself to a manicure or massage. However, those options didn't quite seem appropriate at that point.

She had gone to the Caribbean with another man, a man who she knew was only interested in using her for anything but her decorating skills, a man that she had been planning on tricking and trapping into revealing information that could be used against him, a man, it turned out, who scared her more than any other person she had ever met in her life. Sonny Corinthos wasn't just a crime boss. While he might give off the persona of a charming, intelligent businessman, she now knew he was anything but. He was ruthless, and he was cunning, and she had been the one used by him on their trip.

Surprisingly enough, he had followed her rules and stipulations down to the letter. He treated her with as much respect as he could muster, never once attempting to put the moves on her, and their afternoon and then evening in Puerto Rico had gone smoothly. They had pretended to work, he had taken his meeting while she had feigned exploring the hotel's grounds and accommodations, and, during their business dinner, she had excused herself for a moment of fresh air only to witness the man she was dining with put a bullet between a kid, no older than twenty-two years of age's, eyes.

And she had done absolutely nothing to stop it.

Sitting alone on the warped bench, Carly observed the people passing her by. Most of them paid her no attention, for, to them, she was just another pathetic woman indulging in a few tears to comfort whatever was bothering her. She hated them for judging her, for dismissing her emotions as being trivial, but, most of all, she hated them for the fact that they hadn't been stupid enough, naïve enough to think that they could go toe to toe with a lethal mob boss and come out as the winner. Who the hell were they to push their wailing strollers by, to drag their sniffing mutts across the manicured grass, all the while pitying her? It made her angry – everything, the loss of life, the nonsense of it all, even the chill in the air cutting through her once important fur coat that was now just another trifling purchase in a long line of such impulse buys.

Shivering, she ignored her body's urgings to stand up, to stand up and go home. Patrick would eventually be there waiting for her, and she had no idea how to face him. He was a man who did everything within his power to save human lives, and, apparently, she was a woman who could watch as someone else got their brains blown out… as long as it served her own selfish purposes in the long run. And it would. If nothing else, watching Sonny 

Corinthos murder one of his own employees for stealing was just the thing she needed to help push Elizabeth Perfection-Personified Webber out of her life and out of town once and for all, and she was going to use it to her advantage, but, first, she needed to take a moment to feel sorry for herself.

Realistically, she knew that there was nothing she could have done for the Spencer kid, his name and accused crime the only thing she knew about the slain casino manager. When Sonny had introduced her to the elite members of his hotel's staff, she had not picked up on any hints that he was angry or plotting revenge against the cocky blonde, and, even when she had stumbled across the Cuban holding the weapon trained upon Spencer's forehead, if she had come forward in the hopes of preventing the killing, she just would have been taken care of as well.

And she would do anything to survive…

Standing up, she shook the hand of the man she had called upon landing in Port Charles and separating from the crime boss. The older gentleman looked curious yet slightly concerned, and she couldn't imagine what those emotions would be transformed into once she told him why she had requested some of his time. Nodding towards the wooden bench, they both silently took a seat, sitting as far away from each other as the limited space would provide.

Yes, Carly Roberts would do anything to survive… even using the information of someone else's death to procure another one.

"On the phone, you told me you had some information for me."

"That's right," she confirmed the graying man's statement. "It's about your son."

"Yes, you made that point clear earlier as well. However, what I want to know is how the hell you got my number in the first place. Unlisted numbers are just that for a reason. I don't need my son's scorned girlfriends calling me up, demanding to meet…"

"I never dated your son, and, as for how I got your number, I'm an interior decorator, a much sought after one. I have some powerful, influential clients who aren't averse to doing me a favor or two at times."

The older man snorted. "You paint houses, and I'm supposed to believe that you have information that I might find useful."

"Listen," Carly snapped, her patience draining rapidly. While she wanted to feel sympathy for the guy, he certainly was a trying bastard. "I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I have information that you're going to want, and, in return, I have a feeling your reaction is going to benefit me. That's the only reason why we're here."

"Fine, then, tell me what this damn news is. I'm not growing any younger, you're not 

getting any sweeter, and there's a bottle of scotch back at my place calling my name loud enough I can hear it all the way out here." When she opened her mouth to speak but couldn't exactly find the words to continue, the aging scoundrel stood up, preparing himself to walk off. "Just like I thought. All women manage to do is waste a man's…"

"Sonny Corinthos shot your son at point blank range this evening and killed him."

The designer watched the father slowly turn around to face her. "Can you say that one more time and slower."

Standing up, Carly closed the distance between them. Meeting the graying man in the eye, she explained, "Mr. Corinthos hired me… well, just last night, to redecorate his penthouse apartment."

"Yeah, I just bet he did."

She ignored the snide, innuendo laced comment. "During our first meeting this morning, he sprung a surprise fieldtrip, if you will, on me, insisting that I see his hotel in order to better gauge his taste. I thought he was trying to pick me up; he thought that he would, and proceeded to, take me to his Puerto Rican casino."

"Get to the point where my son is involved in this," the father demanded, his tone displaying evident distrust and doubt.

"I really don't know how much I can tell you. One minute, I'm excusing myself from the dinner table to get a bit of fresh air, and, the next thing I know, I stumble upon an abandoned hallway where Mr. Corinthos was pointing a gun at your son's forehead. Before I could even process what was happening, the trigger was pulled, and the shot went off. I'm," the interior decorator paused, clearing her throat and nodding her head just once to compose herself, "sorry… for your loss."

"You're lying. Cowboy, he's fine."

"Mr. Spencer, I know you want to believe that, but what I'm telling you is the truth. If you don't believe me, check into the story. Try to get a hold of your son. You'll find that he's unavailable, that he'll always be unavailable, all thanks to one Michael Corinthos Junior."

Turning on her stiletto heel, she walked confidently out of the park, leaving the devastated older man behind as he stared off into space. While she might have regretted the fact that Lucky Spencer had been killed, some people were just lemons in life, and Carly Roberts, despite not being able to toast bread, could turn any lemon into a damn fine glass of hard lemonade. Using a grieving father's devastation to her own personal gain was low, even she could admit that, but there were worse things she could do in life.

She could have shot someone herself, but that was just one line she refused to cross.  


For now.

/ / /

Change was an interesting experience, inevitable yet still interesting as well. Currently, Milo Giambetti felt his entire existence shifting beneath him, sometimes rather unsteadily. Though his big brother shielded him from the grittier areas of his life, the gym owner knew that Max and his friends were planning a hostile takeover of Port Charles and its surrounding territories. If they succeeded, not only would Sonny Corinthos be out, but Francis Donovan would be in, and Max would be promoted to his senior guard. It was practically a revolution, a revolution that was affecting even his rather simple, uncomplicated life.

The repetitive, quick staccato of practical high heels moving across the gym's wooden floors captured the young Italian's attention, but he didn't look up from the books he was working on that evening. Because the boxing ring was empty, his place was quiet that night, quiet enough for him to detect the comings and goings of every person… even if they didn't boldly proclaim their arrival by marking his recently waxed floor with scratches like his latest client.

Scratching the back of his neck, he addressed the older woman standing behind him. "What can I do for you Miss Davis?"

"How did you know it was me?"

Swiveling around in his desk chair, the businessman smiled at the lawyer. "Who else wears heels to the gym?"

"I would imagine Jean Claude Van Damme, but I have no real proof."

Rolling his eyes, Milo stood up, leading his most unique patron back out into the gym. "So, what are the chances of me actually convincing you to try exercising tonight?"

"Slim to none. I'm worried about Elizabeth, as I'm sure you are as well, with this whole plan business going on, and I need a good distraction, hence my presence here and hence my asking you about the decided lack of half naked, sweaty men jabbing and hooking around here this evening."

Sliding his hands into the front pockets of his track pants, the young man explained by asking, "you know how the guys like to talk trash, right?"

"More like mumble," Alexis complained. "Is it that impossible for a bodyguard to enunciate his words? I practically have to read their lips to understand what they're saying. You should consider installing a sound system with microphones so others can listen in on the fights."



"If I did that, I'd have to start charging admission."

The attorney cocked her head to the side in thought. "Isn't that what our membership fees are for?"

"Actually, no, they're for permission to use the equipment… which you don't."

"Au contraire," she bantered back and forth with him. "I sit on your chairs, I occasionally drink from your water fountain, and I even once weighed myself. Trust me, though, that won't happen again."

"Come on," Milo waved the older woman along, walking her towards the back of the complex. "Because of everything that's going on right now, the guys have moved their workouts into the spare room, for privacy. If the wrong person heard about Lansing and what he did to Elizabeth…"

When he felt a slender hand reach out and grab his arm, holding him back, the gym owner stopped, pivoting his head around to meet the lawyer's gaze. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't know?"

"If I knew, would I be quizzing you?"

"Good point," he allowed. Sighing, he went on to say, "Look, I really don't know much. I just know that this Lansing guy is after Jason and using Elizabeth to get to him."

Alexis narrowed her pointed gaze in annoyance. "Someone went after her?"

"Attacked her actually," the gym proprietor sympathized, shaking his head in frustration and regret, "in her own damn home, too. Max told me she hasn't gone back since, that she's been staying at Jason's place, and that he had to go and pick up some clothes and stuff for her. It's just a good thing that the bastard stopped short of actually raping her. Could you imagine…"

"Oh my god."

Suddenly realizing that his strange, almost friend was upset, Milo reached out to lend a supportive hand, bracing the attorney by holding onto her shoulder. "Miss Davis, are you alright? Do you need me to help you sit down? Would you like something to drink? I have water, of course, some orange juice, and I think there's a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in my office somewhere. I could try to dig that up for…"

"No, thank you," the older woman remarked, regaining her balance. Turning around, she went to leave the gym, only to call back over her shoulder, "I have to go. I need to..." Her voice trailed off as she stared at him with wide, wild eyes, looking anything but her usual put together self and startlingly like a confused, little girl.  


"You need to go see Elizabeth?"

"Yes," the attorney snapped her fingers appreciatively. "That's exactly what I'm going to do, and, to do so, I'm going to have to…" Again, her voice trailed off, sounding baffled.

"Find a cab." Before she could respond, Milo offered, "on second thought, why don't you let me get my brother, and he'll take you over to Harbor View himself. In fact, he's due to start his shift in half an hour anyway. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to take you to see Elizabeth."

"Yes," Alexis agreed, nodding her head emphatically. "I think that would be best. While you're getting him, I'll be in the ladies' room, splashing some cool water on my face. If you'll excuse me…"

He watched her walk off, knowing that she was not going to the bathroom for any such thing. Instead, just like he had done that morning when his big brother had stopped by to sadly pass on the news about their mutual friend, he knew that the lawyer was going to throw up, even the thought of someone getting to and hurting her best friend like that wrecking havoc on her usually calm and composed nature.

It was just another reason why Ric Lansing had to die.


	34. Chapter 34

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Thirty-Four  
FF#252: Your best friend sticking up for you even when I know you're wrong.**

"Jason Morgan! If you don't answer this damn door in five seconds, I'm going to sue you and have your sorry ass tied up in petty legal technicalities and complicated litigation for years! And you know that I'm more than qualified to…" Just then, the door cracked open, and a hand snaked out, grabbing her by the forearm and propelling her forward and into the penthouse apartment. "Well, that certainly was the rude."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Do not yell at me," she snapped, meeting the angry man's piercing blue gaze, stare for stare. "My best friend was sexually assaulted in her own home last night, because of you need I remind us both of the facts, and you didn't bother to even call me. Don't you think that Elizabeth might have needed me, that she might have wanted to talk to a woman after what she went through, that she might have…"

"Alexis," the blonde interrupted her, gesturing towards the stairs behind them. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Whirling around, the attorney came face to face with an implausibly smirking Elizabeth Webber. Why, the nerve of that stupid, stubborn, inappropriately chipper girl…

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Arguing, the older woman pointed out, "but you were…"

"Attacked, humiliated, scared out of my mind," the artist filled in. "Yeah, pretty much all the above and more, but I'm really okay." Watching the young couple before her look at each other, sharing a secret, knowing glance, she waited for her best friend to continue, already prepared for the brunette to say more. "But then I came here, and Jason… he was wonderful."

Frowning, Alexis asked, "why do I have the feeling we're suddenly speaking in double entendres. No, wait," she held up her hands, stopping either from answering. "I really don't want to know."

For the first time since he had pointed out Elizabeth's entrance to the room, Jason spoke up again. "I think I should leave the two of you alone."

But he only managed to take three steps away before the attorney had him by the scruff of his shirt and was holding him back. "Oh, I don't think so, Desi. You have some explaining to 

do. Like for starters," the older woman ordered, glaring at the blonde. "How the hell did this happen, and, by the time you're done with your story, it better end with: 'and this is what I plan to do about it.'"

"Alexis, I really can't talk to you about this. It's business."

"No," she challenged, charging him with her index finger poised in judgment before her. "Business is me selling your property for you. Business is wire transferring that money into an account that belongs to Joe Smith so that you and Elizabeth have a little nest egg when you eventually take her away from me. Business is helping you find a property in Italy to settle down on."

Breathlessly behind them, the twenty-two year old exclaimed, "we're going to Italy?"

Jason went to answer her, but, stopping him mid word, she screamed irrationally, "business is not planning to kill the man who sexually assaulted my best friend. That's personal, Morgan, and you damn well know it, and, for the first time in my life, I'm going to condone violence, because that pig needs to pay for what he did to Elizabeth."

"Hello, said woman is still in the room."

Spinning around, Alexis addressed the young friend. "Just give me a second okay. I'm in the middle of negotiations." Turning back to the man before her, she stated unequivocally, "I want in."

"I can't allow that."

"And I don't remember asking for your permission. Now, you can either do this with me and get away with it, or you can muck it up and go to prison. Your choice."

Jason narrowed his gaze in her direction, practically assessing her. Finally, he queried, "are you offering to give me legal counsel on this matter? Couldn't you lose your license to practical law if you were caught having knowledge of a crime prior to it being perpetrated and did nothing to prevent it."

"Only if you get caught, and I'm too good of an attorney to let that happen," she boasted. "Now, granted, criminal law isn't my specialty, but I know a hell of a lot more about it than you do. So, without further posturing, tell me what I want to know."

The blonde nodded, holding out his hand for the still observing artist to join them. After they took seats, Jason and Elizabeth on the couch side by side, and Alexis in the chair across from them, he began. "Ric Lansing, the man who attacked Elizabeth, is a free agent my father hired to help him get information on me."

"And what did he hope to accomplish with this information?"



Without emotion or pause, he responded, "Alan was going to use it to control me. Through all the information we've been able to piece together, his goal was to run this organization himself, but, to do so, he needed a figurehead."

"Yes," the attorney quipped, mouth pinched tightly into a scowl, "suddenly I'm not feeling so sorry about his death. Proceed, please."

"We think that Ric killed my father, both to eliminate him and also to get his hands on my father's extensive records…"

"Records," the older woman filled in, following the trail of information effortlessly, "that would enable him to seize control of the organization himself. He's gotten rid of your father, and, now, he's coming after you… through Elizabeth. So, what's next?"

"We need to find out just how much he knows and if he's passed along his information to anyone else," Jason informed her, "and, once we've acquired secured this knowledge, that's when we'll move."

"That's when you'll kill him."

/ / /

"Will this be suitable for you, Mr. Lansing?"

Already reaching into his briefcase to pull out files, the younger man didn't bother to meet the bank manager's gaze as he responded. "It's fine."

"This is our most secure type of safe deposit box, Sir," the sycophant murmured softly. Despite the fact that the bank had long since been closed and that he had arranged to procure and fill a safe deposit box during the establishment's after hours when, usually, the only people there would be cleaning crew and a useless, rent-a-cop security guard, for some reason, the fool of a director felt as if he still needed to speak in a hushed tone. "Not only does it require your key, mine, and your signature, but, after you lock it, you'll have to input a code only you know, and that code will have to be entered again if you wish to access the box at any time."

"Wonderful," Ric dismissed rudely, noticing but not particularly caring that he had effectively hurt the older man's feelings. Instead, he simply said, "if you could just shut up for a few minutes, I'd appreciate it. The sooner I finish here, the sooner we both can leave."

"Fine by me, Sir."

As it was by him as well.

The word out on the street was that Sonny Corinthos had murdered Lucky Spencer that evening, igniting and setting off a chain of events the don was entirely unprepared for. But, while the current organized crime boss of Port Charles might be an incompetent, Ric sure as 

hell was not. Sonny's actions would prove to be a distraction to everyone else, including Jason Morgan, and, while no one was paying any attention to him, he'd slip in and make his next move. But, with any action while attempting a coup d'état, there was risk, and he wasn't going to be caught unawares if the worst happened. So, with that in mind, he had cleaned out his hotel room, procured a safety deposit box to store and keep all of the deceased Alan Morgan's important paperwork in, and made arrangements for a fake alibi for himself. He was so close to getting everything he wanted, he could practically taste it, and it tasted like well-deserved and long overdue victory.

/ / /

Carly was already in bed when she heard Patrick come home from the hospital that night, but, unlike most evenings, she didn't get up to greet him. Instead, she remained still, waiting for him to come to her. Curled up on her side, her brown eyes wide open from both fear and memories, she simply watched the shadows of the room dance around her, proof enough that life was moving on fast while she was still caught in a slow moment from the near past.

"Hey," her boyfriend greeted her. She could hear the smile in his voice. "Now, this is exactly what every man wants to come home to. Screw a home cooked dinner. I'll take a sexy woman in my bed over steak and potatoes any night." He chuckled at his own comments, kissing her bare shoulder, but, when she didn't react, the blonde could feel him pull back. "Is something wrong?"

"I just had a long day. I'm tired."

Concern entered Patrick's voice. "Carly?"

Rolling over onto her back, the interior decorator met his gaze, offering him a tight but convincing smile. "Really, I'm fine. I got home too late last night to tell you, but I got a new client, and he just… well, he just might be more trouble than he's worth."

"Demanding?"

"I guess you could say that," she commented, wrinkling her brow. "He's also rigid, unforgiving, a control freak, and he won't take no for an answer."

Her boyfriend grinned down at her, making Carly smirk. "Sounds like someone else I know. Perhaps you two were just too alike to work together."

Instantly, she sobered. "No," the blonde snapped, rolling back over and turning her body on the man she lived with, refusing to face him even when he pulled gently on her shoulder. "That's not it at all."

Although sleep came easily for Patrick that evening, the same couldn't be said for her. Rather, she remained awake long after the doctor's gentle snores began to fill their spacious bedroom, feeling haunted, guilty. Lucky Spencer's dead, lifeless eyes confronted her 

whenever she tried to close her own heavy lids. Luke Spencer's shell shocked face lingered in her memory long after her words from earlier that day faded. And, most unforgettably, her boyfriend's words taunted her.

"I am nothing like Sonny Corinthos," Carly defended, wiping a single solitary tear away in frustration and anger. "Nothing at all."

/ / /

It was late into the night, actually early the next morning, when Alexis, Jason, and Elizabeth stood from their seats in the penthouse's sparsely furnished living room, having finally just finished hammering out the very last details of their revised, lawyer approved plan. Each showed their own separate signs of fatigue. The painter leaned heavily against her boyfriend, allowing him to physically support her as all three of them stood around, making small talk and saying goodnight, while the boyfriend himself had to fight back several telling yawns. And the oldest of all three of them slumped visibly, her usual perfect posture ruined by fatigue.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here, Alexis," Jason offered one last time. "The guest room's never been used before, but it's there and yours is you want it."

"Thank you but no. I think the two of you need your privacy, and I have an early court case in the morning, so I should really head back to my own place. I'll just call a cab…"

"Or one of the men could take you," Elizabeth suggested, glancing up at the man she loved for silent approval and permission for her idea. It was given without hesitation.

"Thanks but no thanks," the attorney begged off. "That's really not necessary, and, no offense, you two, but, with everything going on, I think I'll steer clear of any Corinthos-Morgan vehicles for the next several days.

The three of them made their way to the front door, Jason opening it while the two women embraced affectionately. "Thank you," the twenty-two year old whispered in her much older friend's ear, "for everything."

"Just bake me a batch… or ten batches of brownies," Alexis teased, "and we'll consider it even."

With a slight wave, she exited the penthouse and boarded the elevator, finally breathing freely once the doors to the lift closed, separating her from the rest of the world and offering her some much needed privacy for quiet, personal introspection. After a moment, surprisingly, she realized that, despite everything, her conscious was still clear.

Apparently, she really was a Cassadine.


	35. Chapter 35

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Thirty-Five  
FF#251: Cheated.**

The Jackal was quite baffled.

Scratching his head, he sat up, observing his surroundings. He was definitely not in Kansas… or his apartment anymore, that was for sure.

The last thing he remembered from the evening prior was falling asleep while battling a lesser god of the cyber world. The imposter had proclaimed himself to be the best, but there was no way The Jackal could let such a contrived boast stand without issuing a challenge. So, he had proceeded to play and wipe the floor with his unprepared opponent, drifting off sometime during the early morning hours. But he was no longer in his living room, and he most certainly had not been sleeping on his couch. His aching back could attest to that.

Instead, he was on the cold, concrete floor on a barren, windowless room. There was no sign of habitation other than one lone chair propped up in front a small, metal table, the fluorescent lights shining above him, and his own disoriented form wearing nothing but his requisite sleeping attire – boxers and socks. As a fitful sleeper, he avoided cloaking his body in binding materials, rather, preferring to leave it free and uninhibited to his restless, dream induced movements. Unfortunately, though, there were no blankets in the utilitarian space, no pillows, and, if the chill in the air was any indication, little to no heat as well.

So, curling himself into as tight of a ball as he could manage sitting up, his yoga classes finally paying off, Spinelli rocked back and forth, hoping the constant action would inspire warmth in his practically numb body. At least his brain was busy. He searched his neurons for clues, attempting to piece together a list of suspects for the crime perpetrated upon him. Who would want to kidnap a book obsessed, closet computer nerd, and, more importantly, what would they want with him? After all, there was no way his current predicament was a dream. The already bruising flesh of his arms where he had pinched himself just to make sure was evidence enough, but he was also completely certain that he had not imbibed on herbal refreshments the night before, instead preferring an unclouded brain as he took on his deficient internet imposter.

"Hello," the young man called out, his voice ringing and echoing loudly in the empty, cavernous space. "Is anyone there?"

When there was no answer, he started to pout, a rather useless but self-gratifying behavior nevertheless. His only companion was his rumbling stomach as it revolved against the rather lackluster hospitality he was being shown at his new accommodations. Without even a second thought, he organized his wish list for whenever someone appeared in the room. First, he really needed to use the bathroom. Secondly, he wanted some food, barbeque chips and orange soda preferably. And, finally, he wanted a computer. At least that way, if 

he was going to be trapped, he could entertain himself… and, perhaps, jackal himself out of captivity as well.

/ / /

The four adults gathered around the diner's table avoided each other's gazes, pretending to be consumed with the drinks before them. Refusing to meet her brother's concerned brown orbs, Elizabeth watched the disintegrating marshmallows in her lukewarm cup of hot chocolate, thankful, at least, for Jason's presence beside her. Speaking of her boyfriend, he clasped his mug of black coffee as if it were a lifeline, noticeably awkward with the situation of having to have breakfast with two people he knew only in name and reputation. Patrick was fidgeting with his empty glass of orange juice, practically praying for his emergency beeper to go off so he could leave the planned breakfast meeting, absolutely refusing to glance in his girlfriend's direction. And then there was Carly, calmly sipping her herbal tea while hiding behind the style section of the newspaper, quite obviously not actually reading.

If she even knew how, the youngest of all four patrons mused to herself acerbically.

It was her fault that they were all there, though, so she felt it was her responsibility to at least attempt to make conversation. Although she had informed Patrick of her plans to leave Port Charles with Jason when he moved, she had avoided the world permanently while speaking to her only living sibling, and she had most definitely not mentioned the fact that they would essentially be on the run from the mob. After all, how did one tell their big brother that? Add to the already complicated situation the fact that they were basically the only family each other had left because of their less than role-model parents, and she knew the neurosurgeon was not going to accept the news easily. However, she needed to tell him the whole truth, and Patrick deserved to know everything.

Still, she was not a glutton for punishment. There was no way she was going to meet with the doctor alone or in private to tell him the news. If they were surrounded by tens of other people in a public place, Patrick would behave, choosing to put his career and his reputation ahead of his own personal feelings, and, if Carly and Jason were both there as buffers as well, hopefully her boyfriend making a good impression upon her big brother and her big brother's girlfriend making a scene, frustrating the brain specialist, and distracting his attention away from her, then all the better. So far, though, that morning in Kelly's, no one was cooperating.

As they waited for their already ordered food to arrive, she found herself wondering just what had managed to wedge its way between Patrick and Carly. Though the couple usually annoyed her beyond thought for she didn't believe that the blonde deserved her older sibling, just a few days prior, they had seemed quite happy with each other. And, despite the fact that they weren't close and didn't confide in one another, the interior decorator had dropped no hints of trouble when she had visited with Elizabeth at her store earlier in the week as they hammered out Carly's involvement in the plan, a plan Patrick knew enough about not to feel lied to or deceived by his girlfriend but not enough to object against.

It was all quite frustrating, and, on top of everything else, there was Mr. Stoic, Silent, and 

Stubborn beside her, refusing to participate in any small talk or inconsequential, irrelevant discussion. He kept glancing at his watch and checking his cell phone, distracting her with his apparent impatience. She knew why he was so on edge. The first part of the plan to take down Ric was starting that morning, but there was nothing he could do to help from the diner, and, selfishly, she needed his support, his strength, with her as she essentially told her brother goodbye.

Clearing her throat, Elizabeth feigned enthusiasm. "So, I'm really glad we could do this before I leave – spend some quality time like this together."

"It's not like you won't be back, Immy." Carly's inappropriate, contradictory snort captured Patrick's attention as he finally glanced in his roommate's direction. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The blonde, in a hushed tone, spoke from behind the paper. "Jason, to the rest of the world, is going to be dead. Just how often do you really think they'll be able to travel back and forth to the states for vacation and family visits?" Scoffing, the older woman mocked, "and you're supposed to be a world renowned surgeon. Remind me to opt for a different doctor if I ever need a craniotomy, okay?"

Without meeting her brother's gaze, the young artist could feel his chocolate irises burning into the side of her face. "She kind of has a point."

"I…" Swallowing roughly, Patrick stumbled with his words. "I don't understand."

And, for the first time since they all had arrived at Kelly's, Elizabeth couldn't hide any longer. Staring her only true family member in the eyes, she confessed, "when I leave town, I'll be leaving for good." Seeking reassurance, even confidence, she searched blindly under the table for Jason's hand, thankful when he found her and twined their fingers together tightly. "I'll never again step foot in the United States, and, chances are, I won't be able to contact you either." Lowering her voice even more, the twenty-two year old confessed, "while I might not be faking my own death, in a few days, a week, maybe two, tops, Elizabeth Webber, as you currently know her, will no longer exist. I'll be using aliases from now on, hiding from my old life while making a new one." Pausing, she tilted her head to the side, meeting her boyfriend's gaze and adding, "with the man I love."

"This is ridiculous, Immy," the neurosurgeon exploded, shoving his chair back in preparation of standing up. Once he was on his feet, he loomed down over the table, narrowing his gaze in challenge towards his little sister. "How can you throw your entire life away, your business, your friends, me, for a man that barely knows you? We need each other. It's been you and me against the world since Sarah died…"

For the first time that morning, Jason spoke up, interrupting the doctor. In a dark, threatening voice, he warned, "do not use Sarah against Elizabeth. You have a right to want your sister to stay in town, to remain a part of your life, I won't begrudge you that, but you will not toss the past in her face. Be a man and fight your own battles, Patrick. Don't rely on 

a ghost to fight them for you."

"Wait a minute," Carly screeched, shoving the unread paper aside. "Who the hell is Sarah, and why the hell haven't I heard of her before this?"

But everyone else ignored her. "You," the surgeon challenged, pointing an accusatory finger in the blonde man's direction, "know nothing about Sarah."

"I told him." Though Elizabeth's words were faintly audible, everyone at the table seating four heard them loud and clear, and Patrick collapsed back onto his wooden chair. "There are… things," the young painter continued, staring at her lap as she addressed her only living sibling, "that you don't know about me and my life. We're not kids anymore, Patrick. A few months ago, when Carly moved in, you essentially told me that I had to grow up, to move on… and out, to put myself out there and finally start living. So, that's what I did. I made a new friend, and, somewhere along the line, that friend turned into something more, and I fell in love with him."

The physician sneered. "There's no way you're in love with a man you just met."

"Actually, Elizabeth and I met several years ago," Jason filled in, offering his girlfriend a gentle, reassuring squeeze of her hand. "And I'm in love with her, too."

"And you told him about Sarah?"

"Again," Carly spoke up, sounding more and more irritated. "Who the hell is this Sarah chick?" Facing her boyfriend, she demanded, "you used to date her, didn't you? What, were you engaged to her at one point? Please, don't tell me you were married before, are now divorced, and kept this all from me. This is perfect, Patrick," the blonde raged, tossing her napkin onto the table in a huff. "Just freaking perfect."

"I tell Jason everything," the twenty-two year old informed her brother, ignoring the screeching decorator across from her. "And he deserved to know about Sarah, about the sister I helped kill."

"You've got to be kidding me," the older woman exclaimed under her breath, slouching in her chair and folding her arms over her chest. Sarcastically, she retorted to herself, "at least I'm now in good company."

And that's when all three sets of eyes turned to her, finally offering Carly the attention she'd been trying to attract during the entire conversation just when she no longer wanted it. Smiling sheepishly, she laughed with absolutely no humor.

"So," the blonde suggested, holding up her empty tea cup. "Who would like a refill?"


	36. Chapter 36

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Thirty-Six  
FF#250: A Little South of Sanity.**

Something felt off to Jason Morgan.

After Carly Roberts' rushed and slightly choppy confession that morning during breakfast, he had ushered Elizabeth out of the dockside diner as quickly as possible, realizing he needed to get her immediately to safety. Things had progressed farther and faster than any of them had realized. So caught up in Ric's presence in their lives, they had let their vigilance against Sonny, Luke, and Lucky slip and were, essentially out of the loop. And, in their world, a lack of information was practically a signed, sealed, and delivered death certificate.

Without eating, they had fled back to the Towers, leaving his bike in the alley behind Kelly's and, instead, opting to ride with the guards back to the penthouse. Upon arriving at the fortified high rise, everything had appeared to be in order. The lobby was intact, the building's apartment dwellers milling about, going on with their day to day activities as if there wasn't a mob war essentially being fought out amongst them, not that they knew anything of the crimes committed in the exclusive residence. But, still, it was rather unnerving to see. Because he knew otherwise. Without a shred of uncertainty, Jason knew that something was wrong, that there was something afoot and waiting for them on the penthouse floor, and, whatever it was, he seemed to be the only person who could sense it.

Elizabeth could sense his tension, and the guards traveling with them – Max and Johnny – could detect a feral note to his attitude, but none of them had any idea of the type of death and destruction awaiting them. If Luke Spencer had found out the night before about his son's murder at Sonny Corinthos' hands, mayhem was inevitable, looming, and, perhaps, already delivered down upon them. With that thought in mind, he had hurried his girlfriend out of their breakfast meeting with her brother, effectively demanding that a livid and bewildered Patrick Webber take orders from him, issuing forth commands that he protect Carly until a guard could be sent to their apartment and, potentially, say goodbye to his baby sister then and there for good.

Everything was a mess, and, yet, at the same time, everything was still moving along according to plan.

As the elevator arrived at the top floor, the harried blonde turned to his two friends and coworkers, meeting their steady gaze head on. "Take Elizabeth to my apartment," he directed them, only glancing towards the woman he loved afterwards. "Keep her there," he continued, staring into the petite painter's tear filled, sapphire orbs. "I don't care what happens to me or anyone else. No matter what, Elizabeth is always protected."

"Jason," she tried to interrupt, but he wouldn't let her.



"I'll meet you in the penthouse as soon as everything is taken care of." Swallowing roughly, he pulled the nervous brunette into his arms, dropping his face into the delicate curve of her neck as he inhaled her unique and truly intoxicating scent one last time just in case…

"Please," he whispered so that only she could hear him, and the almost imperceptible nod of her head told him she agreed to everything she was requesting with that one word – that she agreed to listen to the guards and do what they asked of her, that she wouldn't fight them or come after him no matter what she heard, felt, saw, or sensed, and that she would keep herself safe first and always, no matter who else had to pay the price for her selfishness. It was only because she had promised him those things that he was able to let her go, and it was only after the door to his own penthouse clicked shut and locked behind her that he turned around to face whatever it was that was waiting for him at Sonny's.

The scent of death filled the air.

/ / /

Spinelli glared at the man stationed across from him, irked that he was being forced into compliance. Didn't a bodyguard know that it was best to sweet talk their mark into doing what they wanted of them? The goon he was stuck with certainly had absolutely no tact or proper comportment. After all, there he was, dressed in a pair of borrowed clothes and being forced to hack and infiltrate without proper nourishment to keep him alert and aware. After nearly eight hours without food, he considered his treatment by one Mr. Francis Corelli to be quite unsatisfactory.

Minutes after waking up in the gray prison that in actuality was a cheerless, empty office at the Corinthos-Morgan warehouse, the senior guard had made his presence known in the bare room by offering The Jackal a brand new laptop and explicit instructions: erase every single last record of one Richard Trevor Lansing from the face of the earth, essentially deleting another man's identity, informing him that he would only be released upon completion of his task and fed once he was showing considerable progress.

"Umm… Silent Sentinel?"

"Yes, Mr. Spinelli?"

Whenever he posed a question to the older man, it was always the same response, never once varying in tone or deliverance. And he posed many a question. "Seeing as how The Jackal prefers to work his unrivaled magic while talking, would you mind parlaying with his humble self?"

"Whatever you wish, Mr. Spinelli."

"What a most excellent development," the book store owner agreed, smiling towards the guard and clapping once. Clicking away at the computer keys, he queried, "seeing as how there is already one tech support and research guru under the Corinthos-Morgan employ, why were my services requested? Has the rest of the world finally caught up enough with 

the cyber world to realize that my skills and talents are unrivaled?"

"Stan was unable to take on the entire assignment this time, so, as we sometimes do, an outside, free agent was brought in to help, and, since you seemed to show an interest in our business by bugging Miss Davis' purse while she was out on with Mr. Morgan, you seemed like the obvious choice, Mr. Spinelli."

"Oh," the young kid sighed, his shoulders drooping visibly. "So then The Stone Cold One had The Jackal grabbed simply because he was available and not because of a deeply ingrained sense of respect and admiration for his computer skills?"

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Spinelli." As if sensing the hacker's inner plight, Francis continued. "However, if nothing else, isn't this a chance for you to prove yourself, not to Mr. Morgan, of course, for he'll soon to be leaving town, but to me."

"You, Silent Sentinel?"

"Yes, Mr. Spinelli," the older man returned, his face impassive. With legs positioned a shoulder width apart and arms held securely behind his back, the guard pressed on. "Soon, the Corinthos-Morgan territories will be the Corelli-O'Brien territories, and I just might be in the market for a second in command to work under Stan."

Brightening considerably, the nerd grinned. "So, this Cyber-Stan… If The Jackal is jackaling the obliteration of one Mr. Richard Trevor Lansing, what's your go-to guy doing as we converse?"

"He's creating a new identity for the same man you're deleting. In a matter of minutes, Ric Lansing will be Thomas Keller, wanted rapist, cop killer, drug dealer, and proud member of the Aryan Brotherhood."

"Why, Silent Sentinel," Spinelli beamed, working away on his gifted laptop without having to glance at the screen, "that's quite malevolent of you. I'm awed by your viciousness."

"Unfortunately, this time," Francis admitted, "I can't take the credit. We – Jason and I –were just going to kill him ourselves, but Miss Davis came up with this plan instead. She's quite the impressive woman."

"Aw, yes," the nerd agreed, blushing slightly. "The Lady Legal Eagle is the epitome of feminine guile and charm."

"For once, Mr. Spinelli, we just so happen to agree with each other. Now," the guard cleared his throat and narrowed his gaze. "Get to work. If you want a job, you better not let Stan or Elizabeth and Jason down on this assignment. This is your one and only chance to make an impact upon me."

"Don't fear, Silent Sentinel. The Jackal has never failed before and refuses to do so now."



/ / /

Ric waited for the penthouse door to be closed and locked before he made his presence known to the three newly arrived individuals. "It's so nice of you to finally show up, Miss Webber. How was breakfast with your brother and his girlfriend? Enjoyable, I hope."

He laughed as the two guards immediately encircled their young charge, attempting to block her with their own forms. Their efforts would prove to be futile however. As the three of them backed up towards the door, once again, he raised the weapon clad hand previously hidden behind his back, leveling it upon the security expert reaching for the handle. "I wouldn't do that, Mr. Giambetti. After all, we wouldn't want your blood on Miss Webber's hands, now, would we? So, step aside," he waved the two guards off with his semi-automatic gun. "Elizabeth and I have some unfinished business to attend to."

"You're not getting anywhere near her," the taller, lanky guard bit out, challenging Ric.

"Oh, really?" Before either man could reply back, he fired one shot in their direction, dropping the younger guard before either of his two opponents could reach for their weapons. "Well, would you look at that? Now, I have a clear shot at Miss Webber? So, what's it going to be, O'Brien? Are you going to fight me some more, or do I just get it over with, here and now, and shoot the young, pretty lady you've promised to protect with your own life? Wouldn't it be a better idea to give her an actual fighting chance? If you back off, take a few steps away from Miss Webber, and allow me the chance to leave with here with her, I'll keep you alive long enough to see to your fallen friend, and, in the meantime, we'll give Mr. Morgan a chance to save his lady fair."

"What exactly do you want, Lansing?"

"I want a face to face meeting with your boss, seeing as how Morgan is now ineptly in charge of this organization. His father's dead, thanks to my hands, Sonny died just a few minutes ago when Luke Spencer walked into his penthouse after killing the man stationed at the door… What was his name again? Richie, perhaps. Anyway," Ric waved off the details, his gun flashing dangerously in the early morning light streaming in through the uncovered French doors. "The guard doesn't matter. He was expendable anyway. What matters is the fact that Luke Spencer shot Mr. Corinthos and then turned the weapon on himself because Mr. Corinthos shot and killed his only son yesterday."

Johnny breathed out harshly, absorbing the news he'd just been told. "So everyone's dead?"

"Not everyone, at least, not yet. Soon, though," Ric promised him. "Now, kick your gun away, O'Brien," he instructed the guard, moving forward towards an unguarded Elizabeth after his directions were followed. "After we're gone, wait five minutes before calling Mr. Morgan. Tell him to meet us at that charming little bridge he owns outside of Port Charles. He'll know what place I'm talking about." Grasping Elizabeth's arm tightly in his left hand, his gun still poised in his right, Ric nodded for the Irishman to open the door for them, pushing his hostage out into the hallway before him.  


"Drop your weapon and let the young woman go," voices immediately assaulted them as soon as they left the penthouse behind. Glancing furiously around himself, Ric took notice of the dozens of cops milling about the top floor of Harbor View Towers, their prescient issued firearms trained directly on his chest.

Once he complied, gritting his teeth as he watched Elizabeth run off into Morgan's arms, he felt the handcuffs being placed about his wrists as an officer read him his rights. "Mr. Thomas Keller, you're under arrest for the murder of…"

But the words fell away; he didn't hear them. Instead, the only thing Ric could focus on was a smirking Jason Morgan and an equally smug Elizabeth Webber as they watched him being carted off. Emergency personal whirled around them as the trained medical professionals tried to revive the slain men littering the penthouse floor, detectives and crime scene investigation technicians gathered evidence like little worker ants scurrying around a gourmet picnic, and the first signs of the vultures, the reports, started to circle. It was sheer chaos, and he was in the middle of it, completely powerless to fight back.

He had been bested. Again.


	37. Chapter 37

**Necessary Evil**

**Chapter Thirty-Seven  
FF#249: Make a wish.**

Appropriately, it was a beautiful day. Despite the dismal, harsh reality of a Port Charles winter, the sun had come out, the wind had calmed down, and the snow had stopped just long enough for those gathered at Ritchie Morelli's gravesite to send him off in style. No one wore black; instead, the select mourners were attired in bright, festive colors, just as the vibrant guard would have wanted. Suits were exchanged for jeans and t-shirts; dresses forgone for slacks and sweaters. The preacher was dismissed, as nicely as a ragamuffin group of non-believers could dismiss a man of the church, and, rather than eulogizing the fallen security expert with psalms and hymns, everyone in attendance told a funny, enlightening story about their departed friend and coworker. It was exactly what Ritchie would have wanted.

And when the event was over, the sun disappeared behind the ever awaiting clouds, seemingly having parted just for the perpetual optimist being buried that day, and the large, loud group broke up into small portions. The guard contingent – an injured yet rapidly healing Max, his brother Milo, a recently returned from Puerto Rico Adam, and Johnny as their leader, accompanied by Stan, Bennie, and, their newest member and fellow stooge, Spinelli, all rode back to town together in a limo, the festivities of shared memories continuing in the car. Discretely, Francis escorted Alexis home, using the excuse of business to spend more time with the lady lawyer, and the last to leave, after saying a second goodbye to his grandmother, were Jason and Elizabeth, ostensibly on their way out of town despite how it would appear to the rest of the world.

Time progress; life continued.

/ / /

Milo was unsure of how to react around his new neighbor. Because of his collateral from the gym, he was planning on purchasing Elizabeth's art supply store from her… posthumously, as far as the business world was concerned, but, because he knew his friend wasn't dying but, at the same time, wasn't coming back to town either, he had already moved his things into her second story apartment. The place was much bigger than his old home, was a hell of a lot nicer, and, thanks to the measures Jason had put in to protect the artist, safer, too. However, there was just one thing he wasn't used to yet: a constantly camped out Damien Spinelli on his couch.

At first, though slightly awkward, the genius' presence had been tolerated, even encouraged. The younger guy had managed to organize all his paperwork and files for the gym onto an easy to access and understandable computer system, he started a similar set up for Milo's eventual sports equipment store that would replace Elizabeth's business, and he had even completed the Italian's taxes, months before Uncle Sam would come calling in April. But then the nerd stopped going home at night to sleep in his own place, and he had started eating all his meals with Milo and following him to the gym at night to help with the 

late shift. The bottom line was that Spinelli, though a cool enough guy in his own right, was starting to be a little too much, a little too clingy. Hell, the kid felt like his own personal, rambunctious, talkative shadow. Something was going to have to give.

Having collapsed onto his couch after returning from Ritchie's less than standard funeral service, the dark haired man cringed as he felt the cushions beside him dip and plump as The Jackal followed suit. It wasn't as though he didn't understand why the nerd was so upset. Spinelli was lamenting the fact that his one and only true friend, Elizabeth, was leaving town, for good, and that he'd never get to see her again. The painter was the book store owner's only real link to the outside, social world, and, with her practically gone already, he was clinging to Milo as a replacement. But he wasn't nearly ready or prepared enough to fill such big shoes. Someone else, maybe even a few people, were going to have the share the burden with him until the computer expert recovered from his emotional loss.

"Look, dork, we need to talk."

"Yes, Frankie Dunn?"

Really, he had no idea why the kid called him that, but he accepted the nickname, not particularly wanting to know what had inspired it. Truthfully, he was afraid to find out. "You know, I've been thinking, and it seems unfair that you spend all your time with me." The green eyed dweeb immediately appeared crestfallen. "I mean, you're a vital part of the organization now. Max was just telling me how much Francis appreciates all the hard work you put into helping put Ric away and that he's looking forward to working with you more. So, I think you should start making the rounds, you know, so you can get to know all your new coworkers."

"Really," Spinelli brightened, beaming at the thought. "You sincerely think they'd like to hang out with me, The Assassin of Cyberspace?"

"Sure, why not. Take for instance my brother," Milo suggested. "He's laid up with that shoulder injury for at least a month, maybe two. You could go over after work every night. Take him some food, watch a little tv with him, maybe help out with a little housekeeping, seeing as how he can't really do much of anything besides gain weight right now – it would be good for the both of you, and, if nothing else, you could do his taxes, too."

"I could," the geek agreed readily.

"And then there's Johnny. He's always looking for a new drinking partner. And Benny could probably use your help organizing all the financial aspects of the business." Suddenly becoming even more animated in his persuasive tactics, the gym owner stood up, moving around his new apartment to gather up his neighbor's things. "And don't forget about Stan. You two will be working shoulder to shoulder together in the future. He'll be the Smith to your Wesson."

"And then there's Patrick, too."  


"There's who," Milo asked, scrunching up his face. After several silent seconds of thought, realization dawned. "Yeah, Elizabeth's brother – he'll need a friend now, as well, seeing as how his sister's ditching town."

"And also because his relationship with The Blonde Barracuda has understandably hit the skids. To think, The She-Lion did all that she did in order to hang onto The Charismatic Neurosurgeon, and, in the end, it's what pushed him away. He's probably heartbroken."

"Or relieved," Milo offered. "You know, now that I think about it, you should introduce him to O'Brien. They could go out trolling together."

"Trolling?"

"For tramps," the older of the two young men supplied helpfully. Shoving Spinelli's things into his arms, he glanced at his watch, pretending to appear thoughtful, before opening up his front door. "Oh, would you look at the time. You've gotta run, nerd."

"I do?"

"Yeah, there's so much you have to do this evening, so many people to hang out with, to meet. It's just too damn bad that I have to work and can't go with you." Feigning disappointment, Milo swore, "shit, that sucks. Guess I'll just have to see you later – like next week. Sayounara!"

Once the door closed behind the younger kid, he leaned against it, sighing in relief. Though a small part of him regretted doing that to the dork, he simply needed a few hours of peace. Spinelli would be back, and, eventually, he'd look forward to his return, but, in the meantime, the soon-to-be Corelli-O'Brien dynasty was large and full of employees for the tech expert to harass… starting with his very cranky, very demanding, injured, big brother. It was exactly what the chubby lug deserved after scaring him by getting shot.

/ / /

"Thank you, Mr. Corelli, for showing me to my door, but, really, there's no need for you to come any further."

Holding up the bag he held in his hand, the bag that had been waiting for them in his car during the service, Francis argued with his future attorney, "but I brought beer."

"Beer is for commoners. I don't drink the stuff."

Quirking his brow, the next in line to the Port Charles territory parroted, "commoners? Why such a snob, Miss Davis?"

The brunette shrugged, unlocking her door as he followed her into the cluttered apartment. "Cassadines are members of the Russian royalty, and, despite the fact that my step-mother 

tried to deny my parentage, I am a Cassadine. There are just some things I can't lower myself to do, and drinking beer is one of them."

"Aw, but you see, I fully plan on having at least one beer while I'm here."

"Too bad I never invited you in," Alexis remarked pointedly yet not throwing him out at the same time either.

Francis ignored her. "And, as my host, it would be rude of you to make me drink alone. I'm sure, as a member of the Russian royalty, you were taught that, right?"

"Your assumption would be correct, Mr. Corelli."

"So, I guess that means that you're going to have to pick the lesser of two evils. You can either drink a bottle of beer with me in a toast to our new business association, or you can disregard proper etiquette and insult a guest by refusing to accept their gesture of good will and best wishes in the form of a simple six pack."

There was the barest hint of a smile on her thin, perpetually serious lips as the lawyer rolled her eyes, effectively informing the future crime boss that she was willing to compromise. "Fine," Alexis agreed, "hand me a bottle."

Smirking in victory, the former guard watched as the older woman twisted off the beer cap, tossing it over her shoulder, and took a hefty drink of the frothy ale. Putting the bottle down, she grimaced. "That stuff is disgusting. People willing drink this… and enough of it to get drunk?"

"The more you drink, the better it tastes."

"Apparently," she scoffed, lifting the bottle back up to take another large gulp.

Francis just laughed, enjoying their, if not promising, then certainly empathetic relationship. Both of them were losing their best friends that evening, but, in the process, they were gaining a whole new life, a whole new set of challenges, and it was going to be exciting. Despite the fact that he not only admired the lady lawyer but also found her attractive, the soon-to-be don of Port Charles realized that Alexis Davis could be nothing more to him than a friend and a trusted employee. And he was okay with that.

/ / /

Safely ensconced in the organization's private jet, Jason and Elizabeth watched as the car reportedly taking them out of town for a private weekend alone blew up… just like a trick candle on a birthday cake reigniting itself. It was an explosion no one could survive, and, as the live coverage streaming through the plane's flat screen television announced their deaths, he pulled the woman beside him just a fraction of an inch closer, needing to feel her warmth and life encompassing him.



Their plans had changed after Ric's arrest at the Towers. Because it had been such a public affair, their relationship had been broadcast on national TV for the world to see, so there was no way Jason could die, seemingly in a mob hit set up by Francis so the guard could take over the organization, and Elizabeth could just leave town. Instead, they made it appear as if they had both perished in the explosion.

It wasn't the perfect solution. People were hurt and left behind. Alexis and Spinelli both lost their best friend; Patrick lost his sister and his girlfriend because of their plan. Jason had to leave behind the men he had grown up with, some of them both friends and mentors, others new, respected acquaintances. But, in the end, all the suffering, all the pain, all the loss was worth it, because, as he said goodbye to his life as Jason Morgan, he said hello to a brand new one, one filled with hope and promise. Essentially, just as he had been taught as a child, their actions were a necessary evil.

Squeezing Elizabeth's left hand placed confidently in his right, he felt the metal of her rings bite into his own flesh, and he smiled.

It was a necessary evil because, when everything was said and done, he was someone's husband now, and, eventually, he would be someone's father, too, and those two things made everything he had done as an individual and everything he and Elizabeth had done as a couple worth it. They had no regrets.


End file.
